The Luxury of Mercy
by Hallowed Huntress
Summary: Bella rushes off to Volterra to save Edward from getting himself killed, only to discover that the Cullens have been keeping a huge secret as well as the real reasons the Volturi have little-to-no tolerance for so called "vegetarian" vampires. Diverges from canon at the end of New Moon. Very AU. No romance or non-canon pairings. Rated for violence and gore mostly. Sequel is now up!
1. Preface

**AN: This story, like all of my M-rated stories will be following FFnet guidelines-meaning that it's 16+ and won't be containing any explicit content. However, there will be some suggestive themes, violence, character death and possibly morally disturbing ideas discussed, so be warned.**

**Update: 9/10/2015: I went back and fixed a few things. Ugh, the prose was so garbled in some places, so hopefully the flow is better now. I didn't change too much (mostly just adding periods and clarifying things) but Chapters 12 and 15 have some new additions for those who have read the story before. **

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**Preface**

I was not the sort of person to boast about having a ton of interesting personality traits. In fact, I would normally conclude that I was a pretty boring person—average looking, average intelligence, average teen with family problems and boy troubles. But if I were to name one thing about me that was unique—aside from my legendary clumsiness, of course—I would say it was my curiosity.

Especially in regards to things I would probably be better off living without knowing.

From a young age I was an inquisitive one, always searching out the uncomfortable hidden truths about life and human nature, and facing them head on. It wasn't that I ever voiced these questions aloud—I somehow _knew_ deep within me that if I spoke, no one would understand. That I'd be a freak if I asked my first grade teacher what was wrong in her marriage that compelled her to be so commanding, or ask the pale, scrawny kid in sixth grade who jittered violently in his seat, his face alight with terror, whether it was from vivid relapses of actual events, or simply traumatic nightmares. I knew that, although the evidence to me seemed overwhelming if you looked hard enough, I was sworn to silence by an unwritten pact that humanity hade made with itself. _Don't poke your head into places where it doesn't belong, _it said. _It's not your business _it warned. _There's a perfectly rational explanation for everything, so don't worry… you don't need to know everything _it assured.

Of course, being the reckless person that I was, I had always refused to listen to that sort of conventional wisdom. _Even if I didn't "need" to know everything when strange situations arose… what happened if I wanted to?_ I thought. And so whenever I was confronted with something strange (which, thanks to my unbelievable danger-magnet was quite a lot) I would tirelessly explore every avenue. My mind refused to rest until I was satisfied that I knew the whole story.

Which of course, is why I got into my current predicament—that is, my curiosity led me to discover the existence of, and fall inescapably in love with a vampire. Curiosity like mine had a way of attracting the strangest things, and also made me fiercely unwilling to dismiss oddities like ice cold skin, super-speed and recurrent disappearances on sunny days as any kind of "normal." I also was fiercely dedicated to the truth, so I wasn't about to invent a wacky, pseudo-logical, but ultimately mundane explanation like a disease or drug instead of facing the terrifying reality. Even when it was probably better for me to remain in the dark: safer, saner, and not completely shattering to my previous perceptions about reality, I would accept nothing less than the honest-to-God facts, no matter how stomach-churningly disturbing, bedsheet-grippingly terrifying, or mentally destroying they were.

That was the depth of my desire to know.

That was why I was currently the girlfriend of a troubled, animal-drinking bloodsucker.

Certainly Edward's own curiosity about my imperviousness to his mind-reading powers, and my weirdly delicious-smelling blood had also been partially responsible for bringing us together. But I also knew that if I hadn't vigilantly sought out the explanation behind his abnormal behavior, I probably would have been pushed away from his world. And not because I was a foolishly smitten high-school girl obviously unworthy of his affections.

But because pushing me away was the safest thing to do. And it wasn't just the safest option for me, the vulnerable human, but also for his entire family. My knowledge of vampires could get them all killed.

Yes, you heard that right—_killed._ Apparently there was a mysterious and presumably incredibly powerful coven of vampires called the Volturi who basically ruled the mythical world who would take issue with my knowing and have the Cullens destroyed for exposing the truth. Telling me of the existence of vampires violated one of the Volturi's highest laws, the supernatural "prime directive" if you will.

And yet, at my insistence, they'd risked everything and told me anyway.

As soon as I learned this, I became incurably worried for the Cullen's safety and wished that Edward had let me know of the danger my knowing could bring upon him and the other's sooner. He repeatedly tried to console me, reminding me over and over again that as long as I did not spread the word, the Volturi would likely never know that I knew more than I should (they were not omniscient, after all), and no one would be harmed.

Still, I agonized for several weeks over the idea that my knowledge threatened the peaceful existence that the Cullens so evidently enjoyed. Even if the chance of the Volturi finding out was extremely slim, I felt terrible. There was no way for me to go back to oblivion, and that meant that as long as I was still human, the "vegetarian" vampires I had come to know and love could be in jeopardy. I mean, who knew when these guys might cross paths with us? Everything we had could come crumbling down in an instant.

Or so I had initially feared. But everyone else, for some unknown reason, was _extremely _sure that the Volturi wouldn't come.

And Edward wouldn't tell me why.

Which brings me back to the "predicament" part of my relationship with Edward.

You see, after I'd used my deductive reasoning, a push in the right direction from a childhood friend and a little internet research to discover what Edward was, everything had gone at such a clipped pace. My curiosity had of course demanded that I ask all sorts of questions about his nature at first, but while he'd been rather liberal with his outpouring of physical affection, he'd been rather stingy with his answers to vampire-related questions. For a while I had continued to search out the truth on my own, undeterred by his silence, and delighted to be falling in love so quickly and passionately. But I was only now beginning to realize after over eight months of knowing him, that somewhere in my analysis of Edward and his kind I had stopped short.

Instead of scouring every source of information available until I understood the full weight and magnitude of what I was getting myself into, as I usually did when presented with something new and potentially hazardous, I had only indulged my curiosity until I knew what I thought was "enough." And then for some unimaginable reason, I had ceased searching altogether.

It unnerved me, because it was totally out of character to stop mid-investigation like that. And today as I lied helplessly in a meadow beside an undead creature of the night, I was beginning to suspect some sort of foul-play. Initially, I tried to shake off the deep suspicions and doubts bubbling up in my hyperactive mind as totally irrational fears. But as I watched a narrow patch of sunlight throw prisms of rainbow light off of Edward's flawless alabaster face, it struck me that during all this time I had barely known anything about vampires—let alone dared to really confront the darker possibilities.

I knew their basic identifying characteristics: _strong, fast, beautiful, bloodless, ice-cold, heightened senses, lacking a heartbeat, didn't need to breathe, _and _sparkled like a diamond in the sunlight._

I knew a few facts about what blood did to their physiology: _without it—eyes turn black, less physical strength, less control around blood, especially that of humans, with it—eyes turn red, if diet consists of human blood; gold if diet consists of animal blood. Human blood said to be much tastier than animal blood, and some human blood is especially tasty. _

And I knew that some of them had special powers: _telepathy, clairvoyance, mood-manipulation, _and that many of them didn't—but I had no knowledge as to their origin, and if any two vampires could have the same powers or not.

And honestly, that wasn't even enough material to write a stupid five-paragraph essay! _Why on earth had I been so naïve, and was simply content with my paltry knowledge for so long?_ I thought frantically. _Was it perhaps the thrill of first love that allowed me to be satisfied with my ignorance? Had I really spent so much time admiring his extreme gorgeousness that I simply forgot to make any progress in the important task of unravelling the mystery of his vampire nature?_

But ultimately that justification seemed inadequate—I might have been (and still was) somewhat blinded by my head-over-heels falling for Edward, but I could not fathom how my love for him alone could disrupt my natural inquisitive processes. Perturbed by my findings thus far, I turned my gaze from my boyfrined's ruffled, coppery hair towards the mostly grey sky, which was riddled with a few holes here and there letting in sparse shafts of light and chewed on my lip in concentration.

Certainly his exquisite good looks were thoroughly distracting, but while my mind meticulously sifted through my memories of our short time together, it rapidly became clear that this went much further than that. Not only had I halted in my perusal of further knowledge regarding those who had left the mortal coil, but every time that Edward had tried to remind me of the downsides of his existence, I had silenced both him and my own interest in entertaining the possibility of him being exactly what he claimed—a monster. And although the prospect that his description might be correct was a frightening one—especially now, when our relationship had grown so deep—wasn't it best to consider every likely scenario?

_Or was it better to be in the dark? _I wondered. "Ignorance is bliss" had _never_ been my motto before….

At first, I thought that I had silenced these questions because they didn't need to be asked—Edward would _never_ allow himself to become the soulless murderer he so obviously feared—it simply wasn't possible. I had been entirely convinced that the laws of physics wouldn't allow it, and thus it would be horribly wrong to entertain thoughts of him being a potential threat. That would be a grave insult to him and his overwhelmingly good nature.

But now I wasn't so sure. His warnings were starting to come back to me… _Everything about me is designed to drawn you in, to make you feel safe…. _Could it be that that was precisely what had been going on? At this point, I was fairly well assured that Edward's goal wasn't to eat me, but I was shaken nonetheless by notion that I'd been lulled so quickly into a blind-faith in Edward's strength of character. Was it all part of his "charm"… if it could be called that? Or was I partially to blame for my own hasty acceptance of such an easy feeling of security? Was there a part of me so attached to the idea of being Edward's girlfriend, being able to belong to such a beautiful, powerful, immortal being, that it would throw life-saving caution to the wind?

I frowned at this last thought. I'd never been one for caution—which of course got me into all sorts of trouble—but nothing I'd ever been faced with was truly a significant danger to my life. Scratches, bruises and even broken bones were hardly new to me, so I'd developed a sort of apathy towards danger that didn't appear serious enough to end my existence.

But was this relationship between myself and possibly the one creature on earth who had the strongest desire for my blood, really just another manifestation of my extreme lack of self-preservation, or was it more than that? Was it… that the perks of this relationship were so enticing, that I didn't want to even begin to consider the possibility that it might be better for me to butt out? Or was there really something more going on here?

I had told him I didn't care if he felt like I was his heroin, but honestly… I hadn't really understood what he meant… let alone believed it. The depth of thirst he was describing to me was simply unfathomable. I had never experienced anything remotely like that, so I had figured he was being a typical melodramatic teenager and exaggerating his agony. Or simply exaggerating in order to frighten away an undesirable date—because let's face it, I was revolting compared to Edward.

_Honestly, how hard could it be to resist my blood?_ I had thought. While I was sheltered enough to have never experienced any sort of pervasive drug-addiction, in my short life I'd resisted all sorts of delicious-looking treats with little effort—which was basically the same thing, right?

Sheesh, what a drama queen.

Finally though, as I frightfully sunbathed in our favorite meadow, and observed my aloof, immortal boyfriend for a few weeks afterwards, I allowed myself to wonder in great depth—not to simply cater to a surface curiosity, but to launch a profound inquisition—about the enigma that was Edward Cullen.

I wondered about the feral side of him—the side I'd always denied existed, or insisted was heavily outweighed by the recovering-from-a-mild-drug-addict/saint I pictured him to be, and whether there was any part of him which truly reveled in violence, or if he was truly as disgusted by human death as he had once implied. Knowing of his apparent struggles against his ferocious appetite sometimes, I wondered whether there was a certain amount of sadism inherent in all vampires, or if some were somehow immune to that characteristic. I also wondered about his gift, his telepathy, if he'd ever used it to aid him in during the time that he left Carlisle and fed on humans, and if it was really true what he'd said—that he'd only fed on criminals during that time, or if he'd been at any time unable to resist the call of innocent mortal blood.

And finally I wondered about the taste and smell of blood from a vampire's perspective, specifically my blood, and what it was to Edward.

At first, there was no significant change in my life from wallowing in these dark thoughts—only a lot more sleepless nights, surreptitious google searches, and crabby behavior on my part. But as I delved deeper, not only into the legends and stories about vampires, but into my own hands-on study of Edward, I began to notice things, about his body language—especially the repressed emotions lurking in his eyes—that had always been there when I was in his presence which until now I had either simply never noticed, been brainwashed into forgetting, or pointedly chosen to ignore.

While my mind struggled to come to terms with the ramifications of what I had learned during this clandestine investigation, Edward and I were occupying our favorite grassy hideout. As I tried to puzzle out what it really meant to be a vampire, I felt an icy hand curl softly around my wrist, drawing my attention back to the present. Unthinkingly, my eyes turned in response to his cool touch and met with Edward's. On the surface they appeared rich and golden like honey, but beneath that comforting veneer, they seem to be suffused with suppressed darkness, like storm clouds lurking within the safeness and comfort of a gilded cage.

I swallowed dryly as I recognized the burning hunger behind those eyes. _Do I really promise to be so delicious that you would have seriously contemplated multiple murders just for a taste? _I wondered frightfully.

Edward's melodic voice broke the heavy silence. "It's times like these when I wish more than anything that I could read your thoughts."

I swallowed again—that was not what I wanted to hear, especially now, when I understood with much greater clarity the magnitude of danger I was really in around him. In addition to my rather healthy appreciation of my mind's privacy, for some reason, his request had sounded more creepy than endearing, as I'm sure I would have insisted it was a few weeks ago, and I cringed as I realized that the thought of the owner of that unsettling, purring voice poking around in my brain was about as enticing as the idea of bathing in a bucket of rusty nails. Not to mention that recent findings had caused my paranoia that he might abuse whatever information he could squeeze out of me to skyrocket to ridiculous levels.

"Um… yeah, well… I wasn't really thinking of anything interesting…" I quickly lied, forcing away the noxious guilt I felt by doing so, since Edward had only demonstrated a genuine desire to protect my well-being since the beginning of our relationship. A few dubiously reliable facts about the true intensity of Edward's bloodthirst and the lengths other vampires had gone to fabricate the prefect scenario to feed on someone with blood as delicious as mine should not totally shatter my good faith in him.

Edward continued, thankfully oblivious to my internal turmoil. "Everything about you is interesting, Bella," he paused to sigh, his purplish eyelids fluttering closed for a brief second. "I'm sure your thoughts would be just as fascinating as the rest of you." He trailed off with a contented smile, released my arm from his arctic grip and gazed into my eyes with an ardent intensity.

Normally I would have blushed at such a ridiculous statement, but instead I found myself returning to my previous thoughts and nervously rubbing my wrist where he'd unceremoniously touched it moments before. I was trying to remain calm… but instead I found my heart beating erratically out of control. I was certain he could hear it, and could only hope that he mistook it for butterflies in my stomach instead of this awful dread that had begun to settle over me. I hated that my added knowledge of his nature necessitated so much deceit in our relationship, but I repeatedly assured myself that this was simply a rough phase—we'd get through this, just like everything else we'd been through together.

I couldn't let him in on my recent fears about his desire to consume me, because that would destroy everything we had built through the past months, and I was fairly certain I still loved him.

Probably.

So my only option was to pretend like I was still hopelessly naïve about everything Edward, and wait until I re-acclimated to his presence now that I better understood the risks. And I _would_ readjust—I was sure of it.

I had to—because I needed him.

But it definitely wasn't going to be easy.

Whenever he was around me now, I could see with startling clarity a heated war waging within him. His whole body would tense into rigid lines and angles, fists clenching and veins protruding so visibly from the tension, I swear they should have popped right out of his forehead and arms. His eyes would bore into my soul—cold, penetrating, and he would try to look everywhere else but my neck and any other exposed arteries. His lips, would shut tightly and nose looked ever so slightly pinched as he refused to breathe, lest he be tempted by the slightest trace.

He could no longer convincingly deny it. Even though he swore that he has absolutely no issue resisting the call of my blood after having tasted it, his body language during our last few encounters at least seemed to convey the exact opposite: that ignoring the potent allure had only grown more difficult once he knew precisely how delicious the reward was for giving in.

Thinking back on his apparent increase in interest in making me his meal, I shivered now, as Edward circled his arms around me gently and drew me into a frigid embrace. He parted his lips slowly and I let out a shaky gasp as he pressed them languidly to my collarbone, a cold sweat breaking out over my body as I worried for his control now that he could inhale. If he were to ever ask about my strange reaction to his touch, I would blame it on the cold—that he's so cold. And thanks to the fact that he couldn't read my mind, and his own self-consciousness about his glacial body temperature, he would completely believe it. But that wasn't the truth.

As his fingers curled possessively in my hair and around my waist, I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer to whoever might be listening that I could survive this. If I were smart, especially knowing what I now knew, I would run away and never look back. If I were smart, I would tell him that I wanted to call our relationship off and avoid any close physical contact with him. If I were smart, I would not be laying in this field being smothered in cool buttery kisses by a vampire who very much desired to bite into my throat and drain me dry.

But that was exactly the issue. Though inquisitive, I was most definitely _not_ smart. I had allowed myself to become entrapped, lulled into an inescapable cage of affection by his charm, beauty and gentle words. I'd been caught in the silky web of hot kisses, lavish gifts and sweet nothings, rolled up in a cocoon of comfort and set aside indefinitely for a later date… either to be consumed, or transformed—or simply to remain trapped here as a human for the rest of my mortal life, if Edward ended up getting his way. I was in a great deal of danger, submitting myself to his delicate ministrations. One stray thorn in the grass to prick my skin and it could all be over.

But that wasn't even the scariest part. The scariest part was that, despite this gut-wrenching terror I felt every time he touched me now, I knew I could never leave him. Because I still loved him, of course. And that comprehension paralyzed me.


	2. Chapter 1: The Fortress

**AN: This chapter takes place several months later-which I hope is obvious-and is one of a few lead up chapters. Anything you recognize is likely directly from New Moon-as I wanted to keep this as authentic feeling as possible, but it will diverge from cannon soon, I promise. I simply wanted to make the transition feel very natural, and not forced. Enjoy. :D**

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**Chapter One: The Fortress**

As we made our way through the subterranean tunnel, which Felix, Demetri, and Jane had manipulated us into entering, my head swam with confusion. I didn't know whether to be elated at the simple fact that we had survived the madness that had occurred recently beneath the clock tower, or whether to be frightened at the prospect that my fragile mortal life could be swiftly drawing to a close. As I clung to Edward's stiff, strong frame, I tried to focus on the positive—we were both alive and it looked like a negotiation, rather than an assassination was the next course of action, judging by the demeanor of our escorts. Still… that knowledge didn't do much to soothe my frazzled nerves.

Although he hadn't completely gone through with it, due to my timely intervention, Edward had threatened to do the unforgiveable. His plan had been to expose the existence of the supernatural to a large crowd, on St. Marcus' day, no less, showing flagrant disregard for the established creeds of vampire law. He'd been begging for death, and although the Volturi had initially denied his request, I worried that this time, in light of what he'd nearly done, that he would get his wish.

My heart sank at the thought of losing Edward again.

Despite my growing fear of Edward—especially his thirst for my blood—which had began to manifest itself a few weeks before he'd disappeared from my life, I had quickly discovered that the terror I experienced in his arms was nothing compared to the vast emptiness that was my life without him entirely. Although every cell cried out in alarm whenever he drew too close, or abandoned the caution that seemed to be keeping me alive, perplexingly living without his presence in my life had been torturous. Every day he was missing I felt as though a new piece of me died. All that was left of me without him was a broken shell of a girl, spiraling seemingly without end deeper and deeper into despair. It seemed that Edward was what I had lived for, and no other motivation had been capable of filling that hole, as much as I wished it would.

Jacob's presence had been a necessary tether, keeping me sane and keeping me alive. But ultimately there had been no escape from the crushing emptiness that accompanied Edward's absence, except a tiny reprieve in the form of fleeting hallucinations which curiously only appeared when my body was surging with adrenaline.

Of course initially, I had worried for my mental health and wondered if I should instead try to avoid my visions of Edward like the plague. But as time wore on and my withdrawal from his affections grew more severe I eventually came to embrace them. The images had been vague and flickering, but his voice had been painfully accurate. And even though it was always staunchly reprimanding me for my dangerous recreational choices, as he would have done if he were there to witness them in the flesh, his words had been the only balm for my aching heart.

At least until those hallucinations spurned me to dive off a cliff.

And then Edward had misinterpreted that to mean that I was dead.

Then they weren't a balm at all.

Now that Edward was physically before me again, I hoped that the months apart would have so profoundly demonstrated that I loved and needed him that my probably irrational fears that he would suddenly loose control would be completely overwhelmed entirely by the sheer joy of being back in his presence. However, as he gripped me tightly in the darkness of the sewers with one arm, and delicately held my face in the other, I was distressed to discover that my body still responded as though it was in mortal danger.

I struggled to breathe as he traced his thumb gently over my lips, and down my chin, the icy temperature stinging against my cool flesh. As he lowered his head softly into my damp hair, and buried his nose in the stringy locks, my whole body tensed, every tendon freezing in place, rigid and unyielding. I shuddered in his grip as it suddenly tightened around my waist, and adrenaline ran hot in my veins—preparing me to fight him off or flee. He inhaled sharply, taking in my scent with much more force than he usually dared, and I jumped, and very nearly shrieked at his unusual behavior.

My heart was thudding in my ribcage with such a thunderous force, I swore it would burst. _He took a huge whiff of my scent._ I thought in horror._ I'm going to die, in this dark tunnel… torn apart by my boyfriend. Which is terribly ironic, since the only reason I'm here is to **prevent** death. I am so dead, I'm so dead, I'm so dead, I'm so dead, imsodead, imsodead, imsodead… _

I tried not to panic—okay so I was already panicking, but I tried very hard not to let it show for several reasons. The first was that it was, in some ways, a completely irrational fear: Edward had never once lost control around me, and we'd been dating for quite some time, during which he'd demonstrated much greater abandon—he'd put his tongue in my mouth for heaven's sake! The second was that I didn't want Edward to be alerted to my fear and distance himself anymore from me—I couldn't bear to lose him again, because this time I believed it would probably be the death of me, knowing how my hallucinations of him had driven me into such reckless danger before. And the third was that letting my fear show in the company of unfamiliar vampires who had no respect for human life, and dubious intentions towards those I cared about wasn't the most intelligent idea.

I cursed myself and my insatiable curiosity for ruining my security in Edward's arms just before he abandoned me in Forks, and possibly for the rest of my life. Although I knew it was a possibility, that I could become dinner for any vampire, I was not afraid of Alice, or any of the other Cullens, for that matter. Even Jasper's hungry stares before he had lunged for me had not triggered the same alarms that Edwards gentle, loving touches did. It baffled me that after coming to understand how deeply vampires thirsted for blood, especially blood like mine, that I was so negatively affected by him. Certainly the restraint he had demonstrated during the months we were together should have allayed those fears…

But it didn't.

For some reason, even when his mask was flawless, I _knew_ that deep down Edward wanted to slaughter me.

It was nothing short of _demented _that I was still so attached to him—and yet, here I was.

...

I was so lost in my thoughts, and the gloom of the dark stones encircling us, that it took me a while to notice that I was shaking, violently, in Edward's icy grip. My first instinct was to suppose that it was in fear—the source of most of my shiver's lately. Given the fact that we were currently in the company of several imposing, and possibly very powerful vampires, in an unfamiliar location, and trudging towards an unknowable fate, that wouldn't have been an unreasonable assumption. However, that theory was completely blown out of the water when my teeth began to chatter, the clacking of bone against bone echoing loudly in the darkness.

I wasn't shivering because I was afraid—I was just cold.

It made perfect sense, really: my clothes were still considerably wet from my traipse through the fountain in the center square, and as the water evaporated they acted as a natural air conditioner. Additionally, the temperature here in the sewers beneath the city was far colder than the sunlit surface, for obvious reasons. But what really magnified the intensity of situation was the fact that I was tightly secured in Edward's sinewy arms, which, despite the small respite they offered from our impending doom, were the temperature of Antarctica.

Which meant that I was losing body heat—_fast_.

Suddenly, Edward must have understood that his arms around me were contributing to my suffering, because he abruptly untangled himself from my grasp, retaining only one of my hands in his. It was a noble gesture, so entirely like Edward, but that was not what surprised me. It surprised me that I was pleased that he had stepped back—that he had placed distance between himself and certain temptation.

As we strode further apart, although with our hands still clasped, my heart resumed a steady pace, and my muscles relaxed, the tremors of fear dying down to manageable whispers. I was content, and I found myself repressing the urge to heave a sigh of relief. My reaction confounded me.

Normally—that is, before I'd developed a suffocating fear of him—I would have insisted he still hold me, despite the impracticality of clinging to an ice-cold surface whilst freezing to death. I would have chattered out "N-n-no," or something similarly pathetic, and desperately thrown my arms around him, sacrificing my health and safety for a few more minutes in his arms.

For consistency's sake, I briefly considered doing just that—but instead I settled on tightening my grip on Edward's hand. I loved him, I was almost sure of it… but the unnerving glances he sent in my direction every so often in the dark, his glinting eyes pausing longer than necessary on my exposed neck and arms made me uneasy with the idea of returning to a closer proximity.

We hurried through the rest of the dank tunnel, in agonizing silence, and at the opposite end we were met with a large black grate, with thick, rusty iron bars—formidable, even in their state of obvious decay. A small door made of thinner, interlaced bars was inset into the grate, and standing open, as though someone had come before us, expecting our arrival. Edward effortlessly ducked through the opening and hurried on, into a larger, brighter stone room, and I heard a brief rustling of cloaks as Felix and Demetri trailed in after us.

The grille door slammed shut with a vibrating _clang_, after we'd safely passed through, followed by the shrill snap of a lock. Whether that sound meant we were being locked in, imprisoned within this underground fortress until the Volturi saw it fit to release us—if that was their intention—or if it only meant that wayward humans were being locked out, I did not know. I wasn't afforded much time to ponder the issue, however, before we rushed onwards through the bright room, Jane walking swiftly ahead of us, her dark cloak billowing around her, and Felix and Demetri lurking not too far behind.

As our party approached the other side of the long, empty room, my worried eyes settled on a low heavy wooden door, chocolaty in color, and covered in intricate floral carvings. It was very thick—and I could tell because it, too, stood open, waiting for us. Edward and Alice followed Jane quickly through the doorway, and I nearly had to break into a run to prevent myself from being embarrassingly dragged along behind him. Once I adjusted to my companions' increased pace, I surveyed my surroundings in surprise, the residual buildup of tension I had acquired during our journey so far immediately leaving my shoulders.

I saw an elevator, along with other modern architectural features which surprisingly put me at ease—I suppose anything seemed better that the suffocating gloom of the sewers. However, Edward did not appear to share my sentiment, as the sight caused all his muscles to ripple and contract defensively, and his jaw clenched tight. Jane waited expressionlessly for us by the elevator, one hand easily holding the doors open as we swiftly piled in. Once we were all inside the elevator, the three vampires that belonged to the Volturi suddenly threw back their dark cloaks, letting the hoods fall back dramatically on their shoulders—eliciting a short, sharp gasp from me, as I expected some sort of violence to follow the sudden movement.

I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting to feel cool, blunt teeth carving through my flesh… but the sensation never came. Tentatively, I slid open my eyes, and saw the three standing perfectly still, staring expressionlessly at the shiny elevator interior.

I chastised myself for freaking out over sudden movements—even Edward carried out mundane tasks with inhuman speed at times simply because it took effort to do everything at the painfully slow and deliberate pace which was normal for humans.

Gathering some of my courage, I seized the opportunity to examine the attire the Volturi wore beneath the cloaks. Jane wore a simple knee-length black dress with girlish white tights and low black heels—an outfit that managed to look both juvenile and imposing without any pieces that were by themselves overly unusual. In contrast, Demetri and Felix were both dressed very maturely in black suit pants, dress shoes and simple button-up shirts—though Demetri's shirt was of the darkest black, while Felix's was a deep scarlet. All three wore a silver pendant secured over their unbeating hearts with a thin silver chain, which was in the shape of a capital "V", accompanied by a small crest bearing what appeared to be the Volturi coat of arms.

I was shaken from my thoughts when Edward misinterpreted my serious gaze on our escorts, and hesitantly reached up to brush across my arm—a reassurance, a comfort, a promise of protection. I jumped back at the icy contact against my skin, and stifled a scream by biting my tongue. He quickly retracted his hand, as though it'd been burned, and a look of hurt flickered briefly across his face before he composed himself and directed his gaze back towards the other vampires. I swore his fierce golden eyes were boring holes in Jane's pretty little skull with the intensity of his glare.

Although tense, awkward and uncomfortable with so many vampires in a relatively tight area, the elevator ride was fairly short. As the shiny doors slid open we stepped out in to what appeared to be a high-class office reception area, and I blinked quizzically at my surroundings—the Volturi certainly had a _very_ different aesthetic going on here than in the sewers. The walls were paneled in rich mahogany wood, the floor carpeted in a thick, deep green, and the walls awash with friendly, classy neutral tones. Pale leather couches were arranged tastefully in cozy groups, and the glossy tables beside them supported an array of crystal vases full of vibrantly colored bouquets. The only thing which seemed to be lacking in the room's design were windows, however many large, brightly lit paintings of the Tuscan countryside hung everywhere as replacements.

The obvious focal point of the room, though, lied in the center—a high, polished mahogany counter, which looked far too beautiful to actually be of any practical use as a desk. For a moment I was so entrapped by the impeccable interior design of the room (something which I had believed to be reserved only for ostentatiously wealthy celebrities and people in movies) that I had failed to notice the woman who sat behind the counter. When my eyes finally registered her presence, I felt my jaw unhinge.

She was tall, with dark skin and green eyes—a striking beauty who would have outshone all those around her, if she had not been surrounded by inhumanly beautiful vampires. It was obvious though, not only from the color of her eyes, but from the subtle lack of grace in her movements, and warm flush of her cheeks that she was every bit as human as I was.

But that wasn't the only reason I was gaping—she also seemed perfectly at ease, smiling genuinely, and warmly at our approaching entourage of vampires, and offering a small wave. Though she kept her demeanor polite as she greeted us, I could tell that beneath the surface she was bubbling over with excitement—eager to please, and… _honored_ to be chosen for the task. It was clear from our brief interaction that she was well aware of the fact that the company she kept wasn't human—there was no surprise in her face as she glanced at Edward, his bare chest glinting dimly in the white lights, or even me, wet, disheveled and comparatively hideous. But I couldn't fathom why she would want to be here.

I suppressed a shudder as I tried, and failed to understand her motivations. Certainly she had to know that the Volturi thought very little of humankind and wouldn't hesitate to dispose of her on a whim. _Or did she?_ I pondered, remembering the Volturi's penchant to secrecy. _Did she know that they selfishly murdered innocent people?_ I couldn't imagine that she could be completely oblivious as to what her employers ate, but it disturbed me that she might not care. Or even worse, that she might wish to someday _join_ them….

Jane nodded in the direction of the human secretary—if that's what she could be called—and acknowledged her by name. "Gianna." Her voice wasn't tinged with anger or annoyance, but neither did it seem overly fond either—it was neutral, polite. After a brief exchange of formal pleasantries with the woman, Jane continued toward a set of tall double doors in the back of the room, and we followed anxiously.

As Felix sauntered past the receptionist's counter, he winked at Gianna flirtatiously, and she giggled, a deep rose blush coloring her cheeks.

On the other side of the wooden doors we were greeted by a pale boy in a high-collared, double-breasted black jacket, long black cloak, and with the telltale silver Volturi crest hanging from his neck. He looked like Jane's twin—his hair was a shade darker, and his lips were not as full, but his face the same childlike loveliness and movements the same vampiric grace. He came forward to meet us, smiled ever so slightly, and immediately reached for her. "Jane," he breathed her name barely more than a whisper.

"Alec," she responded, a faint trace of relief in her voice slipping past her impassive mask, as though she had greatly missed him. She rushed to embrace the boy, wrapping her petite arms around his lithe torso, and they kissed each other's cheeks on both sides in greeting. It was quite the scene—and I had no idea what to assume of the nature of their relationship. They could simply be affectionate siblings… or they could be lovers… or _both_.

I quickly dismissed that thought—even though I knew vampires couldn't have children, brother-sister incest was still way too gross to think about.

Suddenly, the affectionate pair's crimson eyes were on us, although their arms were still firmly locked around each other. Alec surveyed the group before him curiously before speaking. "They send you out for one and you come back with two… and a half," Alec noted, looking at me, the corner of his mouth turning up a mischievous smirk. "Nice work."

Jane laughed, high, and rich—the sound sparkled with delight and her red eyes glittered with mirth. For the first time, since meeting her she seemed genuinely happy. It was… unsettling, to say the least… but after another, brief moment of awkwardness, the "twins" detached from their prolonged embrace and Alec swept out his hand in an inviting gesture.

"Welcome back, Edward," Alec greeted politely, "You seem in a better mood."

"Marginally," Edward grudgingly agreed, his eye's threatening to roll at Alec's rather _optimistic_ statement. I hazarded a glance at Edward's face, which was rigid, sour, and nearly seething, and wondered how it was possible for his mood to have been darker before, because I'd never seen Edward this morose and yet furious at the same time. It startled me, and once again I found myself torn between inching away from a possible threat, and gripping tighter to my only lifeline. After a few moments of frightening indecision I finally settled on continuing to hold his hand, for now—better a known danger than an unknown one.

"Aro will be so pleased to see you again," Alec said, swiftly changing the subject.

"Let's not keep him waiting, "Jane suggested, impatience coloring her tone.

Edward nodded once—short and acquiescing.

Alec and Jane, holding hands, and exchanging knowing looks that made my stomach turn, led the way down yet another wide, ornate hall. They ignored the doors at the end of the hall—doors entirely sheathed in gold—instead stopping halfway down the hall and deftly sliding aside a piece of paneling to expose a hidden, plain wooden door. It wasn't locked, or protected in any other manner than its discreet location—which made it even more ludicrous that they felt the need to hide it. Certainly the only people who would have access to this elaborate underground would be the Volutri and their servants. Suddenly I recalled the human receptionist who'd greeted us before—Gianna. Maybe they didn't want people like her prying into places they shouldn't. Or maybe it was just for the ambiance… the Volturi, so far, were an _interesting_ group, to say the least.

Alec held the secret door open for Jane, and we scurried into the room after him. I wanted to groan when Edward pulled me through to the other side of the door—the room was lined with the same ancient stone as the square, the alley and the sewers, and like the sewers it was dark and cold again. At least it wasn't damp, and laced with the faint odor of rot—a small consolation really, but I was grasping at strings here, and not about to relinquish any peace of mind I could get my hands on.

Luckily, the stone antechamber was small, and opened quickly into a brighter, cavernous room, which initially calmed my nerves, until our escorts came to an abrupt halt and I recognized that we had reached our final destination. A suffocating shroud of dread fell over me as I conjured up every possible scenario that could befall Edward, Alice and I in this remote place, and was disturbed to find that I had a very vivid imagination of various ways we could meet our demise.

My gut feeling was that whatever lied ahead of us was going to be extremely unpleasant—my only request of whatever forces might assist us was that Edward would leave alive.

I figured my death was already well assured.


	3. Chapter 2: First Encounter

**AN: There is a reason I put this story in the "suspense" category and I think it starts to show in this chapter. Don't kill me when you reach the cliffie! Also, I'd just like to say that I'm really grateful for all the lovely reviews and favorites I've gotten. It's so inspiring to get so much feedback-thank you so much!**

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**Chapter Two: First Encounter**

The room we now occupied was perfectly round like a huge castle turret, and as I quickly glanced around looking for any possible threats, noting the medieval architecture and the rusty drain in the very center of the circle floor, I surmised that was probably exactly what it was. Given the Volturi's ancient history and eccentric tastes it made sense. And it was far from impossible for a middle ages fortress to sink beneath ground level and become the palace of the vampire "kings" as its existence became forgotten legend to the inhabitants above. It probably took significant upkeep to keep the place from caving in, which meant that there had inevitably been renovation projects along the way, I mused. And for a moment I was distracted from our current predicament as I searched for any obvious clues to pinpoint exactly which century the original structure had been erected.

Although dating the room proved fruitless, during my examination of my surroundings, I noticed that neither the coffered dome ceiling nor the pale stone walls supported any artificial lights, or even an old-fashioned wax-dripping chandelier. I knew something had to have originally lit the place while it was still in human use, though today the only source of light came from two stories up. A series of long window slits had been carved into the thick rock, which were throwing thin rectangles of bright sunlight onto the shadowy floor below. And as dim as this lighting was in comparison with the unbroken midday brightness outside, even with my inferior human vision it was enough to allow me to see relatively well.

I also noticed that the only furniture in the room were several massive wooden chairs—ebony, from the looks of it—and covered in ornate filigrees of jet and gold. They were imposing pieces, expensive and regal, like thrones. And although these fancy seats were spaced somewhat haphazardly against the far curving stone wall, their rich grandeur and positioning atop a small dais with curved steps leading up to it clearly indicated that they were meant to be the focus of the room.

As I continued to take in my surroundings, frantically searching out any possible sources of doom, I watched as a sizeable crowd of people poured into the room from the entrance door behind us. The murmur of their low, smooth voices created a gentle hum in the air, like bumblebees on a warm summer day, and their exposed skin tossed rainbow sparkles of light against the sienna walls.

Their exquisite faces all turned toward our strange party as we entered the room with curious, but otherwise disciplined, unreadable expressions. They paused their various, light-hearted conversations and watched us for a moment in silence before they moved as one, fanning out in a lose circle around a lone figure standing in the center of the room. The congregate of thirty or so red-eyed vampires effortlessly assumed their positions with breathtaking grace, but their chatter did not resume when they stilled again. Their marble faces were even more serious now, and a few vampires on the outskirts of the circle decided to lift their hoods, presumably to shroud their identities from us.

As they watched us walk past them in silence, I noticed that it seemed to be a trend among the Volturi to favor red and black. And most of the immortals were dressed in suits, skirts and dress shirts which were simple, and inconspicuous in their design—articles of clothing that wouldn't particularly stick out on the streets below.

But the man in the center of their daunting formation wore long, pitch-black robes, of an expensive looking material, which brushed against the floor. The robes were tailored perfectly to his body, allowing the seductive shapes of his lean shoulders, chest and arms to be proudly showcased without being overly tight. The cut was also striking, coming to sharp points at his wrists and at the base the panel of fabric covering his chest, and the high neck, long cuffs, and wide hem were covered in elegant, swirling embroidery. In addition to the robes, there were also thick silver chains across his chest which supported long black cape, of a different, though equally luxurious material, and for a moment I thought his long, jet-black hair was a hood. He too wore the silver pendant of the Volturi, the gleaming whitish metal in stark contrast with its black backdrop—although his looked slightly different than the others', more ornate, perhaps.

I racked my brain through my scant knowledge of historical fashion, trying to pinpoint what Era he was emulating, but like with the castle itself, I came up with nothing—no mortal I'd ever seen dressed anything like this.

Suddenly this man spoke, "Jane, dear one, you've returned!" he cried in evident delight, his voice just soft of sighing, and carrying a lighthearted tone which normally would have seriously creeped me out in this situation, but was so musical, so unique, I could only marvel at its inhuman beauty. I frowned as wondered if I would still be smiling at the gorgeous sound if his heavenly voice condemned me to death, which was a definite possibility, given the forbidden knowledge I possessed.

It unnerved me that I couldn't definitively say "no."

Suddenly, the robed man drifted forward and the movement flowed with such surreal grace that I gawked, my mouth hanging open as the fabric rustled and billowed elegantly while he glided closer. Even Alice, whose every motion looked like dancing, could not even begin to compare, a fact which had me torn between retaining my white-knuckled grip on Edward's icy hand, and dashing towards this breathtaking creature.

I only became more astonished as he floated closer, the entire group converging around him as he did so, and I could clearly make out his face. Although otherworldly, with translucently white skin, piercing red eyes, and lustrous, long black hair that spilled smoothly over his shoulders, his features were utterly perfect. There was too much contrast between his marble-white skin tone and his midnight tresses for him to meet any human standard of male beauty, not to mention most cultures didn't consider any shade of red to be an appropriate color for eyes, but in an instant I knew without a doubt, he was the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen.

I suddenly released my grip on Edward's hand entirely, and was shocked as I realized fear was the furthest thing from my mind at this moment—even though all rational evidence seemed to indicate that I was probably in more danger around this magnetizing being than I'd ever been in my entire life. I felt a strange, horrifying urge to touch his cheek, to feel the texture of his smooth, alabaster skin—my hand even lurched out slightly in an attempt to perform the action before I contained the desire, although it was futile anyway, as he was out of arms-reach.

His eyes briefly flickered in my direction, brimming with a dark, excited curiosity, before they turned to Jane, as though nothing had occurred. It hadn't been more than the barest of glances, but I felt my breath catch in my throat and my temperature rise substantially. His gaze was so intense, so _sultry_, I felt like my whole body had been engulfed in flames, and wanted nothing more than to kiss him, preferably passionately.

…_Where did that thought come from? Is he manipulating my thoughts? My emotions? Is this his special skill? Extreme sex-appeal? _

I glanced worriedly up at Edward's impassive face and hesitantly reached for his hand again, fretting that his superior senses had probably picked up on my sudden, uncontrollable attraction to this man, who was supposedly our enemy. While it was true that we probably needed his cooperation in order to leave, as he seemed to carry the authoritative air of one who ran things around here, I didn't think Edward would appreciate me making out with him, or even fantasizing about it like I was right now. Would Edward conclude that I was betraying him, by this sudden influx of desire, and no longer want me—since it was now obvious that I was ridiculously shallow?

Edward however, seemed to be entirely oblivious to my perverse internal struggle. Instead his body was tensed, rigid and murderously focused on the seductive figure in the robes as he drifted silently over to Jane. I wasn't sure why Edward was so angry, but I decided to watch him too, trying not to let my jaw unhinge any further as he moved fluidly from his central position in the room, his luxurious cape rippling majestically behind him.

Unexpectedly the man took Jane's cherubic face in his thin hands, kissed her lightly on her full lips. He then floated back a step as though nothing particularly profound had occurred. And judging by the unmoved facial expressions of the rest of the vampires in the room, Edward and Alice included, everyone else seemed to think nothing of it. But I felt a strange rotten feeling gurgling in my stomach at the thought of this man wasting a heavenly kiss on Jane, no matter how platonic… I couldn't exactly pinpoint the reason, but it soured my mood considerably.

Jane smiled; the expression made her look like an angelic child. "I brought him back alive, just as you wished, Master."

"Ah, Jane." He smiled too, content. "You are such a comfort to me." His smile, though slight, sent another violent tremor of desire through my body, which I thought couldn't become any stronger until he abruptly turned his piercing eyes toward us, and then his smile brightened—became ecstatic. My heart lurched in my chest at the sight—whether from fear, or fascination, lust, or some heady combination of all three, I had no idea.

"And Alice and Isabella too!" he rejoiced, clapping his thin hands together, the sound echoing off the cold stone walls, "This _is_ a happy surprise! Wonderful!"

I stared in shock as he called our names informally, as if we were old friends dropping in for an unexpected visit. Before I could even begin to wonder how he knew our names, however, he swiftly turned to our hulking escort, his cheek catching in the light and glittering dazzlingly. "Felix, be a dear and tell my brothers about our company. I'm sure they wouldn't want to miss this," he requested politely, his tone effortlessly gentle and yet teeming with excitement.

"Yes, Master." Felix gave sharp, affirmative nod and disappeared back the way we had come, his form a hazy blur of black and red as he dashed off with untraceable speed.

"You see, Edward?" The strange vampire turned and smiled at Edward like a fond but scolding grandfather. Inexplicably, both my hands flew to my thundering heart in a futile attempt to still its excessive throbbing—his beauty when he smiled was far too much to handle. "What did I tell you?" the man continued. "Are you not glad that I did not give you what you wanted yesterday?" he said with a deviously gleeful look, as though there was something particularly ironic about his statement which I failed to understand.

_This was the man Edward had asked to kill him?_ I thought disbelievingly. _I suppose he looks powerful enough to perform the task if Edward did not_ resist, I acknowledged, scrutinizing his lean muscles skeptically,_ but still… _I willed myself to feel uneasy about this man—certainly the fact that I felt an overwhelming attraction to him out of nowhere and the fact that he could have murdered the one I loved should have warranted at least that. But none came.

Clearly, I was going insane.

But hadn't my earlier hallucinations already proved that?

"Yes, Aro, I am," Edward agreed curtly, unexpectedly thrusting a hard, cold arm around me, and tightening it with almost bone-crushing force around my waist.

This earned a dubious and bewildered look from the vampire he was addressing, who seemed to think it strange that Edward was clutching me so tightly. But Edward didn't relent. Instead he narrowed his eyes at the robed vampire, and lips slid apart to reveal straight, bared teeth—an action that was accompanied by the barest of snarls. I was confused by his animalistic reaction until it hit me that Edward could probably read the other vampire's thoughts, given our proximity. I wondered if whatever Aro was thinking was the reason for Edward digging his fingers into my stomach.

"Oh, I love a happy ending," Aro sighed whimsically as his mesmerizing red eyes settled over my disheveled form with an expression that was simultaneously elated and triumphant. "They are so rare," he continued, bringing his pale hands together in front of his broad chest and tapping his fingers against each other idly, as though lost in thought for a moment. Then suddenly his expression darkened and grew serious.

"But I want the whole story," he intoned. The tenor of his voice was still flawlessly polite—but the fierce look in his gleaming red eyes left no question that it was a demand, not a request. "How did this happen? Alice?" He turned his suffocating gaze at Alice with unbound curiosity flickering eagerly in his wild eyes. "Your brother seemed to think you infallible, but apparently where was some mistake." His sounded undisguisedly perplexed, but his face was devoid of concern—instead a wide smirk twisted his mouth, and he looked thoroughly amused.

"Oh, I'm far from infallible." Alice admitted easily, with a casual shrug of her shoulders as she flashed him a dazzling smile. Again, that unfamiliar nausea settled in my stomach at the realization that Alice's beauty far outshone my own, and Aro was probably well aware of this fact. Normally I would have labelled it as simple envy—but it was a darker emotion than that, one that made me not only wish that I was a vampire, but also that I could tear her pretty little head off her delicate shoulders with my vampiric strength.

Alice seemed oblivious to my briefly murderous thoughts. Instead she looked perfectly at ease, except that her hands were balled into tight little fists, probably from frustration with our current situation. She continued in her explanation: "As you can see today, I cause problems as often as I cure them."

I sensed her final comment was more out of desire to curb Aro's exuberant enthusiasm about her abilities, and erase the predatory look from his eyes that surveyed her like a valuable prize, than out of actual humility. But it didn't really work.

"You are much too modest," Aro chided gently. "I have witnessed some of your more amazing exploits, and I must admit I have never observed anything like your talent before. Wonderful!" he exclaimed, clapping his long fingers together again and raising them to his mouth, his vulturine eyes never leaving Alice's frightened black ones.

A intensely worried expression flickered over Alice's pixie-like features. Clearly Aro's attentions were disturbing her—although I was far too busy wishing those predatory eyes had settled on me instead, to sympathize with her apparent plight. To be desired by this alluring creature for any reason that didn't involve execution or becoming dinner was a miraculous blessing. I wished, more than anything that there was something unique about me that would pique his interest like that. All thoughts of Edward and the possibility of our imminent deaths fled my mind—all I wanted, was _him._

Aro did not miss Alice's involuntary facial response, but neither did he choose to comment. Instead, his gaze turned toward me, and I felt myself heat up once again as his beautiful eyes roved over my figure. He said nothing as he slowly took in my stringy wet hair, my simple jeans and shirt, littered in damp spots and dirt, and finally settled on my wide brown eyes.

I struggled to breathe.

"I am terribly sorry, we have not been introduced properly at all, have we?" he apologized. "I simply feel like I know you already, and I tend to get ahead of myself," he said with a hint of self-deprecation. "Your brother introduced us yesterday, in a peculiar way," he explained, and I understood that by "brother" he was referring to Edward—treating me as though I was already part of the Cullen's coven and therefore a "sister" to everyone within it.

My head reeled from the implications of his statement, making me forget to wonder how Edward could have possibly introduced me without me being present.

"You see," he continued slowly, shaking me from my thoughts, "I share some of your brother's talent, only I am limited in a way that he is not." Aro shook his head sorrowfully; his tone was envious and I wondered if Edward's gift really was something worthy of coveting—I'd always assumed it was… fairly normal as far as vampires went. But judging by Aro's barely contained excitement with both Alice Edward's abilities, I realized that they were quite possibly rare, and valuable commodities in the vampire world.

"And also exponentially more powerful," Edward butted in dryly, trying to shake off Aro's high praise. He swiftly looked toward me and my deeply bewildered complexion before he explained what he meant. "Aro needs physical contact to heart your thoughts, but he hears much more than I do." He paused for a moment, contemplating carefully his next choice of words.

"You know I can only hear what's passing through your head in the moment," he said finally, and I slowly nodded, uncertain as to what Edward was implying.

Edward gestured toward Aro slightly and finished, his tone grave and dramatic. "Well, when he touches you, Aro hears every thought your mind has ever had."

Alice seemed to be already aware of this fact, offering only a small nod in my direction. But I gasped—_what an exceptional power! With one touch… he knows _everything _about you. Everything you've ever seen, felt and thought is before his eyes with only a simple grasp. _I shuddered at the realization that anyone in his company for any extended duration of time could harbor no secrets from him—there would be no privacy in his presence. I balked at the notion of sharing _everything_ I was with anyone that way. Not even Edward.

Perhaps especially Edward.

I was, once again, very glad he couldn't read my thoughts today.

"But to be able to hear from a distance…" Aro sighed wistfully, his long, lean arms slightly outstretched in Edward's direction and grasping the air. "That would be so _convenient_."

I was a little taken aback by his admission of envy—in my mind Edward's gift seemed more like a nuisance to him than anything else. Being constantly bombarded with the inane thoughts of everyone surrounding him every single day had to be beyond infuriating. But to be able to selectively choose when to read minds, and have someone's entire life laid bare before your eyes when you made that decision seemed infinitely more attractive an ability to me. The only real downside was the requirement for physical contact—however I was sure that there could be nothing powerful enough on this earth to prevent him from touching anyone if he truly desired to. That was the level of authority his presence commanded.

Suddenly, Aro looked over our shoulders, and all the other heads quickly turned in the same direction, including Jane, Alec, and Demetri, who stood silently beside us, their cloaks rustling in the cool draft from the windows above.

I was the slowest to turn.

Felix was back, and behind him floated two more black-robed men, their red eyes stern and condescending. The crowd swiftly parted around them, halfway out of fear and halfway out of respect. As the moved closer I saw that both bore an uncanny resemblance to Aro. One even had the same flowing black hair—although it fell in waves, instead of straight. The other had a startling shock of snow-white hair, the same shade as his face, which brushed against his shoulders. It was a color that would have made him look old, if not for the fact that his face was completely free of any wrinkles. I wondered if that was what vampires who were turned later in their life looked like—frozen, perfect, and yet stuck with colorless hair for eternity because of the age they'd attained as human beings. I would probably never know.

As the three converged in the center of the room, I realized the trio from Carlisle's painting was complete, unchanged by the last three hundred years since it was painted. As my eyes feasted on the two who had just entered, I found my focus drifting to the intricate embroidery on their cloaks and a small silver ring on Caius' left hand, rather than their faces. I realized with a frown that, although these two were both breathtaking, Aro was still the most beautiful creature in this room by a long shot.

"Marcus, Caius, look!" Aro crooned, gesturing in a sweeping arch towards where I stood, nervously beside Edward. "Isabella is alive after all, and Alice is here with her! Isn't that wonderful?"

Neither of the other two looked as if _wonderful_ would be their first choice of words. The dark-haired man seemed utterly bored, like he'd seen too many millennia of Aro's enthusiasm—he almost looked as though he was fighting a losing battle to stop himself from rolling his eyes. The other's face was tight-lipped and pungently sour under his long snowy hair.

Their lack of interest, surprisingly did absolutely nothing curb Aro's enjoyment. "Let us have the story," Aro almost sang in his feathery voice.

The white-haired ancient vampire drifted away, gliding toward one of the ornate wooden thrones and took a seat, his body unyielding in its stiff posture, and his eyes burning with malice and cool calculation. The other paused beside Aro, and he reached his hand out languidly, at first I thought to take Aro's hand. But instead he barely touched Aro's palm, pale fingers ghosting over the smooth skin, before he dropped his hand quickly to his side, allowing it to hang limply in its socket.

Aro raised one black brow in response to this brief contact, and although his expression was puzzled, he somehow managed to make it the most alluring expression, as though he was going to answer his confusion with a passionate display. It made my throat dry, and a delightful shiver race up and down my spine.

Edward snorted very quietly—presumably at Aro's thoughts, and I looked at him, pleadingly, begging him with my squinting eyes to let me in on whatever had occurred between the two powerful immortals.

"Thank you, Marcus," Aro said finally. "That's quite interesting."

I realized a second late, that Marcus was letting Aro know his thoughts. Edward's description of Aro's talent resurfaced in my mind: _Aro needs physical contact to hear your thoughts, but he hears much more than I do. You know I can only hear what's passing through your head in the moment. Well, when he touches you, Aro hears every thought your mind has ever had._

Truly, the depth of Aro's power was unimaginable, not to mention unnerving. Even those who were not immune to Edward's gift could retain some privacy in their own minds by refusing to think anything overly personal in his presence. Alice often filled her immediate thoughts with ridiculous things whenever she was trying to keep Edward in the dark, and it usually worked. With Aro, it appeared you did not have that same luxury—once he had his icy hands on you… your whole soul was bared to his inquisitive eyes.

My attention was sharply brought back to the present, though as Edward's fingers gouged deeper into my side. I was sure I'd find dark purple finger prints there later from his possessive grip. But there was no way I was going to try and break away from him now. That would be suicide.

When I looked up from Edward's hands on me I noted that Aro was still lost in thought. And strangely enough, although Aro seemed tantalized by the possibilities the other robed vampire—Marcus—had presented him with, Marcus himself didn't look interested at all. He glided away from Aro to join the one who must be Caius, seated against the wall, with a bored expression, as though all of this was a monumental waste of his time. Two of the attending vampires followed silently behind him, the trio's cloaks and hair catching and twirling in the breeze, and flesh glittering dazzlingly as they passed through the rectangles of light on the floor.

I could see that two women in thin, short dresses had gone to stand beside Caius in the same manner. But the idea of any vampire needing a guard was totally ridiculous to me… though, upon consideration I supposed they had good reason. Their biggest enemies probably were found in other, formidable vampires, after all, rather than the comparatively pathetic human beings that were typically the Cullens' only competition.

Aro was shaking his head in incredulity and delight, his jet-black locks swirling mesmerizingly at the motion. "Amazing," he said. "Absolutely amazing."

Again, I was wracked with a perturbing urge to reach out and touch him—this time, to glide my fingers through the silky strands of his hair, to see if they really were as soft and inviting as they looked. Until now, I'd always preferred short-haired men—human men with long hair usually didn't care for it well enough and it became a disgusting mess. And I'd never met a male vampire with long hair before Aro—except Laurent, but his hung in wild dreadlocks, so he didn't really count.

But after seeing how utterly gorgeous it was on Aro, I idly considered asking Edward to grow out his hair… to see if long locks would look as devastatingly handsome on him as they did on Aro and his companions.

Alice's expression was once again calm and completely understanding of the situation at hand. But upon noticing my utter lack of comprehension as to what was so thrilling to Aro, she nudged Edward gently in the shoulder and gestured towards my frustrated, knitted brows. Edward turned to me again and explained in a swift, low voice. "Marcus sees relationships. He's surprised by the intensity of ours."

Aro smiled conspiratorially, still gazing upwards at nothing in particular, and lost in deep, manic thoughts. "So convenient," he repeated to himself, and I wondered what could possibly be convenient about the strength of our relationships. My ponderings were cut short, however when he suddenly spoke to us. "It takes quite a bit to surprise Marcus, I can assure you."

I looked again at Marcus' dead face, as he sat lazily in his throne, silent and resigned to his fate of eternal boredom and I wholeheartedly believed that.

"It's just so difficult to understand, even now." Aro mused, staring at Edward's arm which was wrapped around me with crushing strength. It was hard for me to follow Aro's chaotic train of thought, and judging by the equally confused expressions on the vampires surrounding him I was elated to find that for once I was not alone in my pitiful struggle to keep up. And although Alice clearly knew more than I had expected, only Edward seemed to fully understand what was going on—which was hardly fair, as he could read the mind of this ridiculously unpredictable vampire.

"How can you stand so close to her like that?" Aro questioned, his eyes boring into Edward's, as though the younger vampire's golden irises, sparkling with undisguised anger, and animalistic protectiveness contained all the answers.

"It's not… without effort," Edward ground out, his tone acidic. Then his brows furrowed deeper into a sharp "V" as though something completely unacceptable had flickered through Aro's mind.

Aro's curious face seemed innocent enough, but Edward was visibly livid with the ancient vampire. Aro's questioning expression suddenly grew more severe, and he gave Edward a long, knowing look, as if to say, _you're clearly not telling those around you the whole story,_ before his maniacal grin returned to his face.

"But still—_la tua cantante_! What a waste!" Aro lamented, splaying a hand over his chest, a mock stricken expression overcoming his features. _Cantante_… I'd came across a word that was something like that in my research about vampires' bloodthirst, _what did it mean again?_ It was Italian, something about a song… or a singer, maybe?

Edward chuckled once, more of a bark than anything, which was cold, and without humor. "I look at it more as a price." He clarified darkly, and I suddenly remembered where I'd come across the expression Aro was using. The article had originally been written in Italian, but luckily the internet could translate for me. One passage stuck out in particular: _While all human blood appeals greatly to vampires, some find that the blood of certain people appeal to them more strongly. Like the sirens of Ancient Greece, this blood "sings" to them and it is a song nigh impossible to resist. The reasons for the added appeal are not known, but some have speculated that consuming the blood of a "singer" increases a vampire's strength—whether this is a temporary increase or a permanent one is also up for debate. Regardless of the source or outcome, there are no known examples of a vampire being able to stop feeding once they have tasted their singer's blood. If for some reason their feeding was interrupted, almost nothing can stop them from trying again, unless the singer is removed from their presence long enough to become a vampire themselves. _

That was the article that cemented my fear of Edward. Knowing that his resistance of my blood was widely considered impossible, knowing that it likely grated against him constantly when he was in my presence now that he had tasted it, and knowing that he possibly had everything to gain from answering the call, made every moment in his presence a vicious war of life and death. Evidently, from his statements, Aro was confused, surprised and faintly horrified that Edward would resist something so obviously desirable in his eyes.

I swallowed thickly—the Volturi forcing Edward to eat me had not been among the many dark scenarios I'd envisioned on the way here.

Aro made no attempt to mask his deep skepticism of Edward's explanation, that knowing look once again washing over his aristocratic features, and a sudden ominous feeling settled in my stomach. "A very high price," Aro intoned, narrowing his ruby-red eyes, first at Edward, and then at me—which only made my heart thump faster, blood ringing in my ears as the palpitations adopted a breakneck pace.

"Opportunity cost." Edward shrugged, as though it was nothing.

Aro raised one stark eyebrow again, serious doubt still etched into his face, and cast a quick glance at me that was almost pitying. Then his expression suddenly lightened and he laughed. The sound was rich, and resonant, resembling the sound of a warm golden church bell—although it was marred slightly by its derisive tone, one torn between a laugh of surprise and a laugh of complete disbelief. He seemed to know something about Edward's motives for resistance that I didn't—and that thought caused me to shuffle slightly in Edward's grip.

"If I had not smelled her through your memories, I would not have believe that the call of anyone's blood could be so strong. I have never felt anything like it myself." His tone was awestruck, and reverential, as though he was describing a deeply sacred experience. "Most of us would trade much for such a gift, and yet you…" he trailed off in undisguised disgust.

"Waste it," Edward finished, his voice sarcastic and bitter.

Aro's eyebrow quirked again at Edward's admission—and he briefly shook his head, as though he believed Edwards statement to be somehow incorrect or incomplete. His eyes fell on me again, after that, raking over my form in a manner I would have called "checking me out" if he were human.

"Just remembering how she appeals to you…" Aro chuckled sensually. "It makes me thirsty." His eyes darkened, whether from an intense hunger for my blood, or from arousal I couldn't tell. Perhaps it was both—I understood from my research that for vampires drinking blood and sexual activities weren't always strictly divided from each other, and that blood drinking, especially of one's singer was almost universally considered to be the greater pleasure.

A hot blush blossomed across my cheeks as a vivid image of myself and Aro, naked on the cold stone floor, with limbs entwined, and his head buried in my neck, teeth sinking through my soft flesh arrested my thoughts. I stiffened in horror at the animated fantasy, and immediately sought to banish it from my mind. I really did _not_ need to be thinking about that sort of thing right now—Edward and I could be mortal danger, and I barely knew Aro at all. I was supposed to be in love with Edward—the forever and ever kind of love—not fantasizing about someone I'd only just met.

And thoughts of Aro biting me should be creepy, not sexy!

"Do not be disturbed," Aro reassured us, directing his gaze to Edward's form, which had tensed, lowering into a slight squatted stance, as though preparing to spring. "I mean her no harm. But I am _so_ curious, about one thing in particular."

_Aro had obviously touched Edward and read all of his thoughts—what could he possibly want to know now? Did he want to read my thoughts too? Or are there things that even all of a person's thoughts don't explain? _I wondered.

Edward responded flatly, "No."

"No?" Aro asked, suspicion evident in his voice, a single brow raised and his head inclined in curiosity. Clearly he wasn't expecting to be cut off before he could even ask the question. Although, given that Edward didn't seem to be too pleased with Aro's current train of thought, I wasn't particularly surprised. I was intrigued, however—_what could Edward possibly be hiding from Aro, when he had read every single one of his thoughts?_ And why was Edward so adamant that Aro remain in the dark? Wouldn't it be in our best interest to cooperate with the leaders of the Volturi, even if it meant parting with a few personal secrets?

Aro parted his pale lips to speak again, but Edward silenced him with another terse "no." Frustration contorting his beautiful face, Aro moved to speak once more, only for Edward's voice to rise in volume and grow more forceful.

"No, I will not—stop thinking about it! Everything is just fine the way it is, and I am _not_ going to let you mess things up!" he shouted, causing the older vampire to slide backwards a few inches in surprise.

"Are you… shouting at me, Edward?" Aro's tone betrayed his true astonishment and hurt, "Tsk, tsk. I am certain I recall Carlisle teaching you better manners," he finished reproachingly, wagging his index finger back and forth in a disapproving gesture more appropriate for scolding a small child than a hundred-year-old vampire.

Edward clenched his teeth, and lowered his voice to a shrill whisper. "I already know what you want to ask, and I'm _not _going to answer," he spat venomously, "You're just going to have to live with being in the dark, metaphorically, of course."

Alice and I exchanged worrying glances—we both knew that this wasn't going to end well. I wondered if she'd had any visions about the possible outcome of this meeting—especially now that Edward was royally screwing it up with his terrible attitude—but she didn't say anything. I nervously chewed on my lip, helplessly watching the intense verbal confrontation before me unfold.

Both of Aro's crimson eyes widened in shock, "You do not intend to tell her, then." He seemed deeply upset by this idea, his normally perfectly smooth forehead crumpling in concern, and wringing his hands ponderously. "Our lovely Isabella, is never to know?"

My head shot up at that. "What?"


	4. Chapter 3: Confrontation

**AN: Once again, thank you for all the lovely reviews, I really appreciate the feedback, even if it's really short. One thing I saw a lot of reviewers worried about is that I won't update. I've been updating rather regularly, and plan to do my best, but I am a college student, so keep that in mind around finals week ;). Also, I am trying to stay a few chapters ahead in my writing before I post them here, just to make sure I don't have any continuity problems, so I already have a few more chapters completed than what is posted here, I just want to make sure they're as professional-looking as possible before they hit the screen. **

** ...And now we get ready for some action... *rubs hands together plotting a dastardly plan*. Once again, I don't own anything you recognize, and if I did-boy oh boy would Twilight be a different story... ;) Also, we'll be introducing an OC in this chapter, and I hope you like her. **

* * *

**Chapter Three: Confrontation**

Edward was glaring at Aro with a feral intensity, his body coiled and poised to fight, but his eyes were betraying something that looked akin to fear. Not a fear of physical danger, but a psychological fear; a fear that Aro would reveal something I wasn't supposed to know. My breathing had gone shallow and ragged as their eyes bored into each other's from all be ambient tension in the room, and my mind was surging wildly, trying to wrap my head around the fact that there was something big—huge, judging by Aro's unsubtly sour expression—that Edward was hiding from me. Something that maybe, he'd been hiding from me for a long time.

I was so focused trying to piece out what sort of secret Edward might be harboring that I practically jumped out of my skin when Aro's cheery voice suddenly cut through the heavy silence. "Edward, why don't you enlighten, our dear Bella—it simply wouldn't do to have such 'strong bonds' severed by petty secrets, wouldn't you agree?" The words "strong bonds" had rolled with the same buttery smoothness off of his tongue as the rest but had a distinctly sarcastic flavor to them which set me on edge. Though the disturbing grin which suddenly burst across his face, scared me more. His white teeth were bared ferociously in neat little sparkling white rows.

Edward's cold eyes narrowed further, and I yelped in fright as I was thrust violently behind him—an action which was meant to place me protectively out of the way. But instead, it sent me crashing to the unforgiving stone floor in a heap of bruises, and a jarring, throbbing pain in my left arm. It all happened so fast, but I swore I'd heard a loud _crack_ when my arm collided with the pavement.

I bit my tongue so hard in my attempt to keep myself from crying out that I drew blood. Red dribbled ungracefully down my chin, and suddenly all eyes in the room were on me—brimming with unbridled hunger.

Before Edward or anyone else could react, Aro rushed behind him in a flash and gracefully dropped into a kneeling position at my side, his eyes swimming with worry and arms outstretched to his sides with palms facing outward, as if to halt anyone else's approach. I watched, through my pain-induced haze, a flicker of comprehension pass over the faces of everyone in the room. At once all except Edward and Alice took a collective step back from where I lay, whimpering and fighting back the tears threatening to spill over my cheeks.

Edward rapidly turned to face Aro and growled loudly, ready to pounce. Before he could make his move, Alice lithely jumped on him from behind and wrestled him with her tiny, but powerful gloved hands into a tight headlock. Her black eyes hungrily passed over the blood leaking from my lip for a fraction of a second, before she snapped them shut and immediately stopped breathing. As she held her painted lips firmly sealed, Edward struggled fiercely to be released, but Alice refused to relent, fastening her little arms even tighter around his pale neck and shrieking out, "No, Edward! You'll kill her!"

Edward's expression held no indication that he'd heard Alice. But after a fleeting glance at Aro, something in the ancient vampire's mind caused him to cease thrashing in her arms and suddenly he went painfully still. My eyes darted between him and the powerful vampire kneeling beside me, whose gaze travelled quickly over my prone figure, seemingly trying to assess the damage that had been done. My skin turned feverish under his close scrutiny, and I tried not to wince at the pulsing agony in my left arm—his eyes on me were calculating, but absolutely beautiful and I hated the idea of looking away. They lacked the cruel amusement I'd been expecting, and instead, they were filled with warm concern. And although I could tell that he was well aware of the fact that I was bleeding, and there definitely was a part of him which was enticed by my blood, I somehow knew that my blood wasn't what he was after at the moment.

Aro sighed like a parent utterly exasperated by childish antics, and calmly rested a hand on the sleeve of my left arm, which was bent at an awkward angle at my side. As the temperature of his icy hand permeated the fabric, the heat of the swelling appendage rapidly decreased. I tensed as I worried about my mind being exposed to his gift when there was clearly nothing I could do to protest—until I realized that he probably couldn't see anything with the barrier my sleeve provided against my bare skin. After a brief pause, He drew his hand away quickly and turned his head sharply towards the crowd of vampires converged anxiously near the ornate wooden thrones.

Marcus still seemed utterly bored, despite the recent commotion, and his eyes were thickly clouded with disinterest as his thin chin rested in his palm. To emphasize his nonchalance towards the recent commotion even more, he gazed off in the distance at nothing in particular, instead of watching the dramatic scene in the center of the room. Cauis, on the other hand, watched Aro and me intently with a look of savage glee, his pale, spidery hands clasped tightly under his chin. His robe-shrouded feet were flat on the stone floor beneath him ready to leap into the middle of the action if anything happened and it was clear from his fearsome expression that he was looking forward to a bloodbath.

I desperately hoped it didn't come to that.

As I struggled to swallow upon seeing Caius' excitement for violence, Aro's penetrating red eyes turned away from his brothers and landed on a woman of average height, perhaps an inch or two taller than me, among the crowd. She had deep brunette hair that fell perfectly straight past her knees and wore a long black dress, which ghosted just a hair's breadth above the chalky floor. The sumptuous gown covered practically everything—it was high-necked, long-sleeved—but it was _very _tight. Except where it flared out in sharp, crisp pleats at the bottom, the dress was flush against her dramatic curves, and I once again was reminded that I was hideous in comparison. The Volturi crest gleamed brilliantly where it rested atop large round breasts, which strained against the fabric covering them, and her face broke into a stunning smile as she saw that Aro was looking at her.

"Vera," he addressed her calmly. "It seems that our guest _forgot _that his beloved was so fragile and behaved carelessly." Aro snarled the word "forgot" with obvious disbelief and distaste and Edward responded with a low growl of his own. "Although I normally prefer for people to endure the negative consequences of their own actions..." he stole a deprecating look at Edward before continuing: "...Our dear Bella has a broken arm, which needs your attention immediately."

Vera's smile widened into a Cheshire-cat-like grin, and she sprung across the room to my side immediately. The motion was a cross between floating and skipping and it made her impossibly long hair toss in gorgeous chocolate waves. Alice's steely gaze followed Vera as she neared us. But the darker-haired girls's porcelain doll-like features betrayed absolutely nothing—neither fear nor relief—as the woman knelt beside me, the pleats of her luxurious dress fanning out around her in a pool of glossy satin.

Without a word, Vera drew back the scratchy sleeve covering my left arm. As she reached out with a delicate hand to grasp at the bare skin of the arm she had just exposed, at first I was inclined to panic, since I suspected that she also possessed a tactile power and was going to use it on me. But just before our flesh collided, Aro gave Vera a slight smile and a small nod. And in that moment I irrationally, but completely trusted that whatever this woman was going to do would be for my benefit. Something in my gut assured me that even though I had every reason not to, that I could rely on Aro to protect me.

So for a brief moment, despite the throbbing pain, I was content…

Until Vera's fingers wrapped around my arm, and I let out a bloodcurdling scream.

At the very same moment her hand made contact with my skin, an excruciating shock of agony surged through my broken arm. I writhed in horror as I felt the sickening sensation of my twisted muscles rippling back into place and forcing the fragments of my shattered bone back along with them. While the bone fragments uncomfortably wriggled back into position, I continued to scream. I felt all the blood vessels which had been damaged from the impact then begin to vibrate unpleasantly and reconnect their severed ends, gradually erasing the black and blue splotches which littered my swollen skin. There was a sickening _pop_ as the bone finished growing back together, and then the pain was gone as suddenly as it came.

Once I stopped howling, Vera gradually retracted her wintry hand, before lighting swiftly onto her feet and flitting back into the crowd of vampires huddled together at a safe distance from me. I blinked once slowly, dazed by the recent events, and slowly started to sit up, surprised to find that no part of my body cried out in protest as I did so. Hesitantly, I moved my tongue within the dry walls of my mouth, and was astonished to discover that the bleeding had entirely stopped. She'd healed me, completely.

I felt a surge of gratefulness toward Aro for being considerate enough to see to it that my injuries were swiftly taken care of, and for leaping directly in to the fray to make sure no one lunged for my throat. Warmth blossomed in my heart at the idea that he was behaving protectively over me.

Of course the idea that Aro was superseding him as my protector did not sit well with Edward, who suddenly snapped forward, teeth gnashing riotously, and thick venom splashing over his chin and onto the floor. The blood drained from my face and horror washed over me as I watched the one I claimed to love trying his hardest to chew Aro's beautiful face off, while imprisoned in Alice's unyielding grasp.

Aro swiftly fluttered backwards, out of Edward's reach, his shoulders shaking—at first I thought in fear, until his head tossed back, ebony locks sailing along with the sudden movement and I could see his face. A deranged high-pitched cackle erupted from his smiling lips.

"Ha, ha, ha, ha! _This_ is how you react when you so carelessly harm your _beloved_ and _I_ am the one responsible for restoring her health? Certainly you should know from experience that your _precious_ Bella has been restored, not damaged by Vera's powers," Aro chided, clearly implying that this was not the copper-haired vampire's first encounter with the immortal woman at my side—a fact which jarred me and filled my fear-harrowed heart with uneasy suspicion. "And yet, you would bite the hand that assists you… rather literally…" he trailed off incredulously, peering thoughtfully at his nearly bitten off fingers. "The spell must have disturbed your mind further than I thought," he concluded, a slight astonishment coloring his features—which paled in comparison with the fierce shock that overtook mine.

_Spell? What spell? Does he mean, like a magic spell kind of spell? Do things like that even exist? _I supposed with the existence of vampires and werewolves I really shouldn't have been all that surprised that there could be something out there which could cast magic spells, but I had honestly never considered it before—vampires and werewolves I knew were real because I'd had firsthand experience with them. Magic, I had still assumed was a thing of fairytales, along with dragons and unicorns and little green men. The whole concept of casting spells seemed extremely ridiculous, not to mention scientifically impossible.

"…What are you talking about?" My throat was dry, and my voice raspy and weak. But I had to know—and it seemed like Aro wanted me to be aware as well.

Edward's expression radically darkened and… was it _guilt_ that flickered in his eyes?

Aro smiled softly, and gestured an open palm towards Edward, an invitation to speak. "Yes, Edward, do enlighten us," he beckoned melodically, "I'm sure our dear Bella is simply _dying_ to know."

My stomach lurched at the intensity of the animosity between the two—I sensed his use of the word "dying" was deliberate, to egg Edward on, because if there was one thing that could make Edward lose his mind completely, apparently it was the thought of me meeting my demise. A world without me in it, was a world in which Edward didn't want to exist—he'd made that much painfully clear by his arrival here in Volterra.

Edward's hands fisted tightly, the veins over his knuckles protruding substantially at the effort. "She can't know, she wouldn't understand," His voice was frantic now, "She might jump to the wrong conclusions about us, and about you. We can't trust her with information like that. She's young, naïve, and human. She has no idea what's good for herself. She's not very bright, acts on impulse and is a huge magnet for danger," he ranted, shaking his fists slightly as he spoke. "I don't want her to make any mistakes that could permanently mess up her life."

There was a reverberating silence at his words. Every vampire in the room looked shocked, and given that Edward had only recently implied that his love for me was the reason for his dedication to not drink my insanely delectable blood, I didn't blame them. Even Aro, whose face told me he knew exactly why Edward was saying these awful things, raised an eyebrow at Edward's rude remarks and looked dubiously towards Marcus, probably curious about how our intense emotional bonds were fairing. The bored, wavy-haired ancient merely sighed in resignation, before glancing over at a light-brown-haired woman standing off to his right amid the petrified crowd. The pair exchanged no words, but the tiniest of nods in my direction apparently told the female vampire all she needed to know.

Meanwhile, I felt like I'd been kicked in the stomach.

While there was a good possibility that Edward thought he was saying those hurtful things to protect me, it was painfully obvious that, to some degree, that was how he actually perceived me: _untrustworthy, young, naïve, unintelligent _and… _human_, as though that in of itself was an unforgivable crime. While I couldn't disagree with a lot of what he had said—I _was_ only eighteen, human and an enormous hazard-attractant—I felt that his less-than-adulatory words about my wisdom and intelligence were unnecessary and terribly rude. He was basically trying to reduce me to a child, to convince Aro that I was not mentally or emotionally mature enough to make my own adult decisions.

And knowing that he didn't trust my judment stung horribly.

Being motivated to linger in my presence because of a thirst for my blood, rather than undying love, was one thing. Refusing to transform me into a vampire time and time again when it was my deepest desire was another. Seriously injuring me and then nearly _biting the hand that healed me_ was pushing my limits, and harboring an important secret from me for over a year hurt my feeligns quite a bit. However, these were all things that I could probably eventualy recover from and forgive him for, given the right explanation—e.g. I could forgive him for keeping a secret if there seemed to be an adequate reason.

But openly insulting my intelligence and denying me the right to be treated as a capable adult in front of those who could be our enemies just because I was mortal?

That was the final straw.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that the light-brown-haired woman Marcus had boredly glanced at earlier was looking rather intently in my direction. When she focused her dark red gaze on my person, furrowing her thin eyebrows at the effort, I felt something shift within me, though I didn't connect the two at the time. As I furiously recalled all the many times Edward had dismissed my capabilities as being insufficient, there was a sudden shock of ice followed by a stab of fire in my heart. And then, like dross melting away from silver, all of the crippling and contradictory feelings I had felt for my boyfriend during the last eight months suddenly flushed away and one thing finally became painfully clear.

I was no longer in love with Edward Cullen.

And that truth was more liberating than I ever thought it would be. I could almost hear the shackles linking me to him jangling uselessly to the ground. I was free! No longer was my existence chained to another—no longer was I so sickeningly attached to a monster that wanted to eat me that I couldn't live apart from him. Euphoria flooded my being, and all the horrible guilt that accompanied my less than sisterly thoughts of Jacob over the past few months, and of Aro just recently, vanished entirely.

I thought it was a little strange that the shift was so fast, but as I mulled it over I realized that my love for him had already been in a state of decay since I began to search for the truth about vampires in early September. My feelings for him had waned quite a bit with each new discovery, and actually it was kind of uncanny that my heart had held onto him for so long when we had so little in common other than our mutual like of kissing. Really, that spark ought to have fizzled and died out long ago.

And yet, it hadn't.

My thoughts over the last several months had been uncharacteristically obsessive, and irrationally I had remained wholly devoted to Edward, in spite of his abandonment and overall manipulative treatment of me. Until a few seconds ago I had felt _trapped_ in my position as Edward's girlfriend, feeling strongly compelled to be loyal to him even when it began to be apparent that I was little more than a toy to him. I had even _heard_ him say so! He had grumbled under his breath to Jasper a little too loudly when I stood in the hallway outside his room, that he only kept me around because it was entertaining.

It was for that reason that I had wholeheartedly believed his cold declaration in the meadow when he said he no longer loved me, just before he vanished from my life. But even then my heart wouldn't let him go, despite the fact that it was unnatural to love him after that.

Something fishy was going on here.

But now I was thoroughly perplexed—if he didn't love me, why on earth had the news of my supposed death spurred him to commit suicide? Was it possible that—even in his obstinate condescension towards me—that he _thought_ he loved me that deeply? If he did, he had a terrible way of showing it. Or was my death a convenient excuse to finally achieve something unattainable otherwise?

All I could say for certain was, no matter what love the teenage vampire felt or didn't feel for me, I sure as hell didn't love him. I still wanted the best for him, and I most certainly didn't want him to die, but I knew that even if all past grievances were forgiven, the most emotion I would be able to muster would be a sisterly affection towards him.

My childish dream of a forever love with Edward was shattered beyond repair.

I had expected to feel a lot more sorrow at this momentous loss—the fantasy of us living out our eternal vampiric existences together had utterly consumed me since I had learned what he was. To be as fast and strong and beautiful as he was and be a sickeningly happy couple for thousands of years until the world inevitably went up in flames, had become my only goal. That had been my whole direction, and I had thought I would feel lost and disoriented without it. But instead of pathetically breaking down weeping before our austere audience, I found myself feeling enraged and betrayed.

Visibly seething, with my chest heaving up and down from the sheer amount of fervent wrath boiling in my being, I was about to scream my lungs out at him for his words, but someone else much loser to him beat me to the punch.

"Stop it Edward! I'm sick of you treating her like she's five years old!" Alice bellowed angrily, causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end, and the closest vampires to glide back a step. Edward, whose hypersensitive ears were directly beside Alice's mouth cringed as the sound reverberated painfully in his eardrums. I would have felt sorry for him if I wasn't too busy crying my brains out, but maybe not even then—he definitely deserved it.

Alice continued in her angry rant, her voice slightly softer now, but still bursting with fury, "She's an adult now and mature enough to know what she wants. Why not give her all the information to make an informed decision?"

Hearing her support calmed my temper considerably and smile broke out across my face. Alice believed in me and was sticking up for me—I still did not know what on earth they were arguing about so passionately, but it was heartening to know that despite the fact that she was actually significantly older than me, Alice felt that I was mature enough to understand and come to the right conclusion. I was determined not to let her down.

Aro was silent throughout this altercation, but the unforgiving glares and bestial snarls Edward was sending in his direction obviously indicated that his mind was very active in ways Edward highly disagreed with. For a brief moment I wished that I also had Edward's telepathy—if only to know what had Aro's face twisted into an enormous grin, and Edward's into a look of savage ferocity.

Alice sharply twisted Edward's face in her gloved arms—and for a horrifying second I thought she was going to twist his head off—until I didn't hear the telltale _crack_ of inhumanly hard skin, and she stopped only a fraction past the point where human heads stopped turning naturally. I was then I realized this violent-looking action was to bring him into eye contact with her, so that he could see the emotion on her face as she spoke.

"Please tell her," Alice pleaded with him. "…about the spell, about Carlisle, about everything. She deserves to know."

Edward's golden eyes widened with an unreadable emotion at the desperate sincerity in Alice's hunger-blackened gaze, before Alice's thin arms suddenly loosened from his neck, and she skipped backwards from him, the floral scarf around her neck billowing in the slight breeze, and the clack of her high heeled boots echoing eerily against the stone walls.

Edward stood with his head bowed slightly—though no longer twisted at an unnatural angle—and his thumbs twiddling rapidly in his interlocked hands, as though lost in deep thought about his next course of action. Caius leaned forward slightly in his seat, obviously eager for Edward to lash out violently, now that he'd been released, but Marcus, on the other hand, only barely glanced in our direction, before rolling his eyes in mild annoyance and staring back off into space. The rest of the vampires in the room all had their red eyes firmly fixed on him—some in worry, others in excitement, and yet others with neutral interest.

I for one, expected a fight, and so I quickly adjusted the stance of my feet. Although I knew in my human state I didn't stand a chance against any vampire, I figured it was better to be prepared to flee if I was ever given the opportunity to do so.

But before any sudden violence could occur, an irate, piercing voice severed the musty air which sent icy shivers down my spine and caused a few of the surrounding vampires to straighten slightly in mild terror. "The girl already knows too much, Aro," Caius' frosty voice interjected, and without warning the ancient vampire slowly rose from his seat, the silver ring on his left hand glinting in the sunlight as his hand fisted tightly in frustration. "Why should we waste our precious time by telling her anymore?" he spat acidly and shot a dagger-like glare in Aro's direction, which caused me to realize that his eyes had been a dark burgundy color since the beginning of our conversation. I stiffened as I recognized the wild hungry look in them all too well.

As Caius strode imperiously toward Aro, his thick black cape rustled menacingly behind him and his face composed entirely of jagged, wrathful edges. "You said earlier it was _obvious_ from the boy's mind he never intended for her to be one of us," he growled before coming to an abrupt halt several feet away from Aro, who stood calmly in the awkward distance between Edward and I. As soon as he stopped, Caius' eyes hungrily scraped over my figure—his gaze the agonizing visual equivalent of fingernails scratching against chalkboard.

I shuddered violently—and then froze in absolute horror when Caius' jaw twisted into a sadistic smile at my fearful reaction. Every muscle in my body screamed at me to _run_, but I knew that would only serve to hasten my demise, as I was certain the ferocious vampire in front of me would take my pathetic attempt to flee as bait to begin the hunt.

"And earlier he certainly was not entirely opposed to the idea of her being _dead_…" Caius added, almost wistfully in reference to Edward's previous belief that I had perished jumping off a cliff. The white-haired vampire's eyes never left the flesh of exposed neck, and his tongue darted out of his grinning mouth to lick his lips in feral anticipation.

Alice looked horrified at the events unfolding around her, and hunkered down in her high-heeled boots, prepared to pounce if Caius made any sudden movements towards me. I expected Edward to mirror her expression but his face was apathetic. Terrifyingly, it seemed he really could care less if I lived or died, which only increased my suspicion that there was an ulterior motive for his presence here.

Aro merely frowned.

"Hush, Caius," Aro commanded quietly, quickly silencing his brother's voracious ravings, and holding up a forbidding hand to suggest that moving any closer to me was not an action he approved of. "Although Edward may have squandered his chances with this one, Isabella is such a… _miraculous_ creature." His voice was filled with a curiosity that was unexpectedly reverential, and was chocolaty smooth as he gracefully swept a hand in my general direction. The way he spoke of me, as though I was some sort of mysterious heavenly being caused a deep pink blush to stain my cheeks, and my stomach to swarm with butterflies. My heart soared—I was something unique in Aro's eyes after all.

"I want to see her reaction to the truth, to see if she is… ready…." He explained further, inclining his head in my direction, though his eyes never ceased boring into Caius', even as he began to pace, gliding in a slow, tight circle around his ravenous brother.

But before I could even wonder what Aro could possibly want me to be prepared for, an unnervingly ecstatic grin pulled at his patrician features, and he added: "With her abilities fully-realized, she may prove a valuable addition to our ranks."

Caius snorted and rolled his eyes, as though this was a "typical Aro behavior" which he found particularly irritating, and Edward snarled—disturbingly much more upset by the prospect of me joining the Volturi than that of my death.

I, on the other hand, was hopelessly confused.

"…What abilities?" I asked, bewildered by the insinuation that I—who wasn't even a vampire—had some sort of special power that I wasn't yet aware of. _How could I have a super power if I didn't know what it was? _I thought frantically, as I nervously wrung my clammy hands together, and anxiously shuffled my weight between my feet.

Seeing my apparent agitation, Aro paused in his predatory encirclement of Caius, and his stern warning expression immediately melted into a soft smile. "Shhh… One thing at a time, my dear Isabella, one thing at a time. I promise we will tell you everything eventually," he placated, his voice low, and laced with impeccable tenderness, each syllable sweetly seductive as they poured like honey over his delicate lips. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?" he suggested charmingly.

I felt myself nodding, and was somewhat stunned to discover that I completely trusted Aro's promise. He _would_ tell me everything—for what purpose, I knew not, but I was absolutely certain that I would not be left in the dark forever. And that knowledge was comforting enough to allow me to relax and wait patiently for it all to pan out. Although there was nothing in my memory to logically indicate that I should trust him, his declaration rang with such profound sincerity, that I couldn't bring myself to doubt it.

Aro cast a fleeting cautionary glance toward Caius, warning him to stand down or else risk being brutally torn apart, before floating closer to where Edward stood, until he was mere inches from his face. There was a curt second of silence, and Caius employed the opportunity to turn in a huff, his black cloak swirling angrily around him, and stomped furiously back to his throne. Alice watched with worry in her obsidian eyes as he threw himself down in his seat, and crossed his arms impetuously over his broad chest, afraid that he might lash out again. However, as soon as his luxurious robes settled around him, he twisted his head sharply to the side and angled his aquiline nose towards the ceiling, as though everyone in the castle turret at this moment was no longer worthy of his regard.

"Edward?" Aro prompted politely, though from the devilish smirk which warped his features, I suspected that mentally he was somehow coercing him into action with his thoughts. Edward's head suddenly snapped up in response to his name, and he was giving me the coldest stare—one which made my heart pound at a vicious pace, and drops of sweat bead on my forehead. He began walking forward, each step agonizingly slow and deliberate, his hands clenching tautly at his sides and a slight grimace ruining his beautiful face. _This was it_, I thought resignedly, _Edward is finally going to eat me_.

Instead of pouncing, however, he came to an abrupt halt a few feet away from me and he spoke, his voice icy, and full of unconcealed anger at his current situation.

"Fine, I'll tell you."


	5. Chapter 4: Secrets Revealed

**AN: And here it is, as I promised... we start to learn the Cullens' dirty little secrets... *grins evilly* ...****Once again, I don't own anything you recognize. But anything you don't, from OCs to non-canon vampire powers, are all mine. **

**Also, just a heads up: explaining everything is going to take quite a few chapters, as there are a lot of things that Edward and other Cullens didn't want Bella to know. I promise to explain everything eventually, but there's a lot of material to go through and I also need to keep the action moving. But it wouldn't be as fun if you knew everything right away, right? ;)**

**...And... now back to our scheduled program... ;) **

* * *

**Chapter Four: Secrets Revealed**

"Where should I begin, Alice?" Edward asked in resignation, his voice betraying his extreme reluctance to reveal any more than was absolutely necessary, and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Alice's perfect painted lips bent into a slight frown at his tone and she let out an exasperated sigh before she said, "At the beginning, with Carlisle—I think it will make the most sense that way."

"But Alice…" he protested vehemently, whirling to face her with an angry glare before she viciously cut him off.

"No buts, Edward!" Alice shouted venomously, her voice filled with more wrath than I had ever heard coming from the usually extremely calm and polite little vampire. I staggered backwards unsteadily over the thankfully flat stone at the sharpness of her interjection, but once again was heartened to know that Alice was sticking up for me. Even though our fashion senses clashed violently at times, and she had a ghastly habit for throwing elaborate parties—the bane of my existence—she was someone I could call a true sister.

"She deserves to know," Alice continued in a softer volume, though her tone was no less deadly or serious than her previous outburst. "Carlisle himself said he felt guilty for not telling her," she offered as her final argument.

Edward's gloomy face contorted into one of disbelieving rage, his thick russet eyebrows torn between disappearing into his messy hairline, and arching deeply just above his nose. "That doesn't mean he wants us to tell his whole life story!" he cried in fervent rebuttal.

Alice's shiny black eyes rolled at his behavior. "Just do it."

Edward heaved a deep melodramatic sigh, and I stifled a giggle. Today it seemed he really was being a drama queen, which only made the suspense in waiting for his response even harder to bear. If whatever he was keeping from me had him this worked up, it had to be extremely important. Although I had already gathered as much from his earlier statements, everything he did to express his profound unwillingness to unveil the truth only filled me with more anxiousness to discover what it was.

"Fine," he relented tersely, glaring daggers at his surrogate sister before slowly turning back to face me. I swallowed nervously as his liquid gold eyes rested on me, directed a little above my heart, though not quite on my face, and clenched my hands into little fists in an attempt to remain calm.

"Bella," his voice had calmed considerably, as though my name was a balm of healing as it rolled smoothly over his tongue, but something about it seemed eerily off, false. "Do you know the story of how Carlisle became a vampire? How he discovered our unusual diet?" he enquired neutrally, neither exceptional gentleness nor overt ferocity coloring his tone.

I blinked a few times at the unexpected question, and considered it for a moment, my forehead wrinkled slightly in concentration. Certainly I had been told the story, but I was at a complete loss as to why that was relevant.

Hesitantly I responded, "…I remember that his father was a priest in the 1600s who hunted vampires, and that Carlisle was training in his footsteps." I decided to keep my tone neutral as well, and stick to the facts, rather than any emotional interpretations of the events. "Carlisle stumbled on a coven living in the sewers and was attacked. They left him alive, but just barely, and when he came to, he tried to commit suicide rather than drink human blood."

Edward frowned at my vivid recollection of the story, and Alice nodded enthusiastically, encouraging me to continue.

I remembered Carlisle's grave expression as he told the story—especially as he related his early fears in regards to what would become of his soul now that he was transformed. I was going to skip over that part, because it seemed overwhelmingly inappropriate to discuss something as deeply personal as Carlisle's spiritual turmoil in front of such a great audience—until I realized it was integral to the story. It couldn't be left out because it was Carlisle's extreme religious determination to retain a clean conscience that had compelled him to seek out alternatives to human blood in the first place. So I took a deep breath and kept going.

"Because of what he was taught during his human life, he thought being a vampire made him soulless… damned…"

Aro's penetrating eyes softened at the statement, as though this knowledge stirred sympathetic feelings in him from whatever he had read Carlisle's mind during his brief tenure in Volterra, when Carlisle and the three Volturi leaders had that portrait commissioned of them. I had no time to dwell on this, however, as I refocused on finishing relating Carlisle's tale.

"Instead of dying, though, he ended up… um… eating a couple deer in his extreme hunger, and he's been an animal-drinker ever since. Is that right, Edward?" I felt fairly confident that I had remembered all the important details, but I wanted to make sure he didn't think I had omitted anything necessary.

Edward's face was still acidly sour, but he offered a slow affirmative nod. "That's… essentially correct, yes," he confirmed placidly, with a slight inclination of his head towards Alice, who also nodded—though with a bright smile gracing her pixie-like features, instead of Edward's grudging scowl.

"So… what's that got to do with anything?" I asked, impatiently tapping my sneakered foot against the cool beige stone, disappointed that they didn't clack imperiously like Alice's heels did. I was tired of beating around the bush—I wanted to cut to the chase.

"There is one thing he didn't tell you about his transformation…" he trailed off ominously, his pallid lips tight with displeasure, and his somber eyes guiltily averted from mine. "Carlisle's not just a normal vampire."

"W-what do you mean?" I sputtered pathetically in response. _Not a normal vampire?_ I thought frantically. _Did that make Carlisle a different species of vampires from the Volturi, and Victoria? Or did Edward mean something else… like he'd been, altered somehow from the norm, whether naturally from his own complete abstinence from human blood or by an external force?_

"He's like Alice and I," Edward explained calmly, the high-strung tension slowly unwinding from his muscles, and assuming a more casual stance. "He has a… _special talent_," he clarified, pointedly emphasizing the last words so that there was no mistake as to his meaning.

I wanted to burry my face in my hands from embarrassment. That made a whole lot more sense than any of my theories, not to mention it should have been obvious. Although not all vampires had special abilities, those that did seemed to have a tendency to be more resilient and long-lived than those that did not. And while Carlisle was nowhere as old as some of the Volturi, he had seen his fair share of centuries, and seemed to have a reputation of a certain formidability about him that I never fully understood. The Denali's seemed to treat him with a great deal of deference and respect, even though some of them had lived over twice as long—which would only make sense if he held something else over them.

Also, having seen Aro's disturbing fascination with both Alice and Edward's powers myself, and having heard somewhat of the Volturi's invasive recruiting methods for collecting such able vampires, I couldn't believe that they had left the Cullens alone all these years out of sheer ignorance or an extremely old friendship that didn't end on the best of terms. Obviously, whatever power Carlisle possessed, the Volturi wanted nothing to do with it.

Whatever power Carlisle had, the most powerful coven of vampires in the world were unwilling to confront—which said a lot.

"…And you guys decided not to tell me because, what… it was _too cool_ for me to handle?" I asked incredulously, earning a gentle shake of Alice's scarf-wrapped head, and a wide, mirthful smirk from Aro. "Too creepy?" I offered instead, this time receiving a more adamant shake from Alice—although that wasn't as comforting as she intended. Alice had the ability to see the future in disturbing and vivid ways, so perhaps she was not the best judge of what constituted "creepy" or not.

"You thought I wouldn't be able to keep my mouth shut about it?" I countered quickly, my tone clipped with mounting anger, and my damp, sleeved arms crossed firmly over my chest as I waited impatiently for a suitable answer.

This time it was Edward who shook his head, his short tawny locks rustling slightly at the movement. "No, The Volturi have been aware of Carlisle's gift since the time they met before, and no human would ever believe you," he spoke as though it was obvious—which it was, because I had already deduced as much—and his eyes visibly dulled with the all-to-familiar _you're an idiot_ look. His negative assessment of my intelligence made me want to punch him—_hard. _But I knew it would probably only result in a badly broken hand, which would be horribly embarrassing.

Seeing that I was not satisfied with his answer, Edward continued with a soft sigh, "Anyone else's knowledge of this is... irrelevant."

"Then why?" I demanded, my temper rising as I failed to understand why I had been deliberately left in the dark when I could see no reason to do so. Edward, Alice and Jasper had all been forthcoming with their miraculous gifts—what on earth did Carlisle possess that he thought would be better for me to remain unaware of?

"Carlisle's gift is… kind of unsettling," Edward began carefully, making a slight gesture with both hands in a downward motion which suggested he wanted me to "stay calm," though his face was still embossed with a cavernous black look. "He never uses it intentionally to cause anyone harm," he quickly clarified, upon seeing my brown eyes widen to golf-ball proportions in worry. "But once you know about it, it can kind of drive you insane."

My heart was hammering in my chest as I tried to imagine the gentle Carlisle I had always known as the possessor of something so horrifying that he sent truckloads of vampires and humans alike drooling and screaming off to mental institutions for psychiatric treatment. I simply couldn't accept that someone who had only ever expressed feelings of profound love toward everyone he met would have a talent like that—it was far too sadistic for him.

"He has the power to mess with your sanity?" I asked, refusing to believe it, until Edward directly confirmed it.

"…Not precisely…." Edward seemed slightly confused by my assumption, however he swiftly recovered. I, on the other hand, let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding in extreme relief. A slight frown curled downwards the corners of Edward's thin lips as he continued, his voice as icy as his skin, and gravely serious.

"Carlisle's talent is the ability to manipulate memories."

I gasped—loudly.

Of all the "unsettling" abilities the kind-hearted, vampire doctor could have had, something like that had never crossed my mind—I had assumed that his talent, although never explicitly mentioned, would be something that I had already partially recognized in him. Perhaps something to explain his remarkable medical skills, or his unbelievable self-restraint near human blood… but not something like that.

Certainly it wasn't overtly cruel, and I understood what Edward had meant when he said Carlisle didn't _intend_ any harm with it, but it couldn't be considered a wholly benevolent gift either. Any power that involved messing around inside someone's head seemed like a horrendous violation of the human right-to-privacy. But a power that could _change_ what you remembered went even further—it violated the right to trust your own recollection, to trust what you had seen and heard with your own eyes and ears.

I was blown away as the deadly ramifications of such an ability started to manifest themselves in my mind, and was beginning to understand why one's sanity was in danger from knowing about such a power. Experiences were the only tether a person had to reality, and if they couldn't trust their own minds to accurately remember the past, then they couldn't trust anything they experienced to be real... Without such a security, it would be very easy to slip into a paralyzing paranoia and treat every new sensation as an elaborate illusion.

Even the most benign of situations would be construed as the result of some nefarious plot, and everything that was once beautiful and inspiring or relaxing would be spoiled rotten with doubt, fear and anger. Eventually—if there was no reprieve from that mind-grating state of questioning everything—that person would be rendered utterly incapable of distinguishing fantasy from reality, which would almost invariably result in clinical insanity.

I swallowed thickly. _Now that was a decent enough reason to keep me in the dark_, I conceded fearfully.

Uninterested in allowing me further time to process—for which I was actually grateful, in this rare instance—Edward rushed on in his description of Carlisle's abilities.

"He can only alter occurrences in peoples' minds after-the-fact," Edward explained, his tone clipped and encyclopedic. "The present is always real, but he can tap into your mind's recollection of the past and make it so that your real memories are replaced with something else."

_The present is always real_—it was a small comfort, but if I were to spend any significant time around Carlisle in the future, that might be all I would have to cling onto. I froze in horror at that thought. The present was such a small sliver of my life, not to mention that it never stood still—it was always racing forward—but it was the only thing which I could trust explicitly anymore. Everything else—_everything_—was now suspect, and I could no longer absolutely trust it to be an accurate reflection of reality.

No wonder the Volturi wanted nothing to do with him.

Although the ability to alter memories might be extremely useful—especially to an organization dedicated to preserving the secrecy of the supernatural—the overwhelming paranoia that would smother all within its range could only result in large-scale psychosis. Carlisle's presence in Volterra would cripple the Volturi, and all hell would probably break loose as a result.

I struggled to absorb this revelation before Edward plowed ahead once again, spewing out more information callously, his impartial academic tone sharpening with growing annoyance. "He has to touch you to use his powers, but as with Aro's gift it can be any sort of touch, as long as it's skin-to-skin." Edward paused briefly to press his hands together, palms flush, and fingers oriented towards the ceiling as a visual representation. "A handshake, a hug, while healing an injury—you would never think it was strange," he finished with a dark emotion seething in his eyes. I shuddered as I considered that every seemingly innocent brush of skin I had shared with the paternal vampire could have been initiated with ulterior motives.

"There is, however, one integral difference between our powers," Aro cut in, his voice polished and perfectly polite, although a delicate frown marred his beautiful features. "When I touch another, I experience all of their memories whether I desire it or not—I have no control over my gift," he explained, a longing sadness seeping into his tone, as though there were instances when this involuntary flux of memories was sometimes an unbearable burden, rather than a blessing. "Our dear Carlisle however," his voice suddenly became inflamed with a dark, passionate envy, "can _choose_ whether his touches alter memory, or if they do not."

"Is there any way to tell the difference?" I asked, panicking at the idea that friendly interaction with the man I had considered a second father—and still did, to some extent, despite recent information—could either be entirely harmless, or mentally ruinous. Although I doubted I would allow him to come anywhere near me for a _very_ long time, I wasn't certain I wanted to completely destroy our amicable relationship over this. If I had some way of knowing for sure that I was safe...

But Aro shook his head. "From Carlisle's mind I have learned that his memory-altering touches are usually longer: more lingering than is necessary—but otherwise they are indistinguishable from those that do not perform any alterations," he offered sadly, his eyes brimming with sympathy to my plight. He looked like he understood perfectly my desire to retain some form of companionship with the kindly, blonde vampire, but also knew it would likely only end in bitter mistrust and pain.

The deep hurt in Aro's scarlet eyes caused me to wonder if Carlisle's abilities were partially the reason for their dissolution of their friendship. Carlisle had told me that they had parted ways over a disagreement in terms of diet—that Aro was unable to cope with Carlisle's rejection of vampires' "natural" sustenance, and Carlisle could not stand to live with heartless murderers—but I couldn't help but wonder if that was the whole story. Carlisle had stayed in Italy studying medicine for several decades, and must have at least _tolerated_ Aro's inhumane diet during that time. Certainly they must have argued over it frequently, knowing how adamant Carlisle was about animal-drinking in Forks, but I was just as certain that something else had probably dealt their friendship the fatal blow.

Being unable to trust that your friend would not tamper with your memories could definitely do that.

While I mused about Aro and Carlisle's botched friendship, and how Aro still spoke fondly of the Cullen patriarch despite the way it had ended, Alice unexpectedly entered the conversation. "In other words," she added, with a slight toss of her flowery scarf, "...he can alter memories with _any_ touch, but does not do so with _every_ touch."

_Any touch, but not every touch _I pondered fearfully. _That too, has got to drive everyone around him insane._ With no way to tell the difference, and with his gentle, gracious personality, it would seem paranoid and rude to refuse to touch him when social customs called for it. But every touch would be tainted by fear, because you would never know that anything had changed—you wouldn't remember the memories he replaced. You would know it was _possible_ that he had made you forget something very important, or made you believe something that never happened. But without a guarantee either way, even the tiniest moments of contact would fall under scrutiny.

Which led to an important question—what if he made you forget that he had touched you too?

Edward gave a brief, tight-lipped nod, in response to Alice's comment before continuing in his ruthless barrage of data: "Carlisle's power does have limitations, though. He can't make you forget the touch that altered your memories. And he can't invent completely new memories, because he can only change what you experienced with your five senses, and not your emotions."

Seeing the blank, bewildered look on my face and mistaking it for incredulity, Edward hastily interjected: "Carlisle tried to create a whole new event in someone's mind once instead of replacing one. But he quickly discovered that a memory without emotion is hardly a memory at all. Without emotion, experiences are meaningless, sterile and disorienting—so the person he gave this 'memory' to immediately knew it was fake."

_So all my emotions in my memories were unaltered_—that was a greater comfort, since it assured that my love for Edward hadn't been a complete lie. But I still felt the near irresistible urge to squirm at the thought that some of the tastes, touches, smells, sounds and sights recorded in my imperfect human memory were mere fabrications. Everything I could remember seemed so real…

"Also, the replacement memory should not be at odds with the original emotions, or else the memory will feel off," Edward explained, somewhat distractedly, his glimmering eyes flickering over at Aro and the next closest vampires standing several feet behind him. "It isn't exactly normal to feel nothing but contentment when your wife is being brutally murdered before your eyes…" he analogized morbidly.

His frightening statement was followed by a dramatic silence.

I sucked in a breath. _Had Carlisle ever fabricated a memory like that?_ _Although it's marginally better to simply make someone think something awful like that happened, than to actually do it yourself, that's such a… dark thing for Carlisle to do. It's like… psychological torture. Not to mention that you'll go totally insane when you find out that person is still alive and you realize that your memories don't ontologically match up with reality. _

I noticed, out of the corner of my eye that Caius' ruby eyes were glittering with excitement and his dusty lips had cracked into a wide, animalistic grin—all blindingly white teeth and no compassion—as he seemed to consider the more brutal uses of such a gift. After a few seconds however, his feral grin rapidly twisted into a deep scowl as he seemed to realize this power might be targeted at himself, rather than hapless bystanders, and his eyebrows narrowed in competitive determination. Marcus, as usual, was determinedly unimpressed with the recent proceedings. However he did manage to cast a lazy glance at Caius, before shaking his head in what looked like exasperated disbelief.

After giving a few moments to digest the darker possibilities of Carlisle's power, Edward unceremoniously broke silence. His low, warning tone and suddenly blackened gaze—a gaze more glacial and threatening than anything that had ever been directed at me before—startled me. "But as long as the basic sentiment aligns with what really happened, and there aren't any sudden changes in your environment, you shouldn't be able to tell the difference," he finished cautioningly, before languidly looking over his shoulder at his sister, who offered him a cheery smile and two gloved thumbs up.

At first I was horrified by Alice's reaction—_was she really offering such an enthusiastic gesture of support towards incomprehensibly cruel mental torture_? And then it dawned on me that she was approving Edward's discourse as a whole, rather than his most recent statement.

Once he realized that Alice seemed to find his explanation adequate, Edward heaved an exhausted sigh. After a moment his eyes briefly flickered longingly in some unknowable direction, before his shoulders sagged even further, and he began tapping his foot impatiently. I wasn't sure what he was waiting for, but at the moment I was far too absorbed in trying come to terms with all the mind-melting information I had just received, to be concerned about him.

_Shouldn't be able to tell the difference_—I still wanted a better reassurance that I could still discern reality after that.

If not, I was all but destined to completely lose my mind.

"…Wouldn't something that never happened feel fake?" I timidly enquired, hoping to recover some of my feelings of mental security.

I was disappointed however, when Edward's response was less than one-hundred-percent affirmative.

"Sometimes," he conceded partially, though judging by the pungent doubt corroding his usually melodious tone, it sounded as if such an event was rather rare, at least recently. "That is why Carlisle prefers to keep as many things the same as possible, and only alters moments he was present for… unless he has no other choice," he finished forebodingly.

I wondered what situations led Carlisle to think he had "no other choice," and I also wondered why my discovering the truth that the Cullens were vampires didn't make the list. For, if the only real law in the vampire world was to prevent knowledge of their kind from falling into human hands, then my deductions were not only dangerous to myself, but possibly life-threatening to the entire clan. Why would he leave me with something that could easily destroy him? Or was it really impossible to invent a situation where I would naturally feel the same shock, the same sensation of all my over-arching beliefs about what was mythical and what was factual being overturned practically overnight, that didn't involve the truth?

Or was there another reason Carlisle allowed me to retain my knowledge…?

"It takes a lot of finesse to fabricate realistic memories, because believability is all in the fine details," Edward answered suddenly, attempting to satisfy my unasked questions, although he could not hear them so he was off base in his estimation of my ponderings. "But he's gotten pretty good at it in the last couple of years."

"He's never altered my memories," Edward hurriedly clarified, upon seeing my eyes widen from the assumption that he knew of Carlisle's memory-altering prowess from firsthand-experience. "...At least, I don't think so..." Edward's face twisted with obvious concern and distrust and I didn't blame him—there really was no way to know. "He says that he likes to keep my memories pure, so that he's not the only one with an accurate recollection of the past. Whether or not that is true, I can't say..." Again, Edward frowned in frustration, his arms crossing defensively over his chest, and suspicions of betrayal flickered in his amber eyes. "However I can see in the minds of others that they believe the memories he's replaced to be as real as the rest."

Despite Edward's mistrust it made sense that Carlisle wouldn't want to be the only one who knew the whole truth, because then he would be eternally barred from discussing it with anyone… which was bound to drive him crazy. There was also the side-benefit that it provided him someone to cover for him if he ever slipped up and was unable to rectify the slip with his powers.

However, the most compelling reason for Edward to be left unadulterated was that his mind-reading powers would make it virtually impossible to keep the truth secret from him for very long anyway. It certainly wasn't impossible to do, but it was such an immense hassle to hide things from the telepathic vampire. And I had no doubts that Carlisle wouldn't attempt it with something as serious as this.

It was discomforting to consider that perhaps that the other the Cullens were not aware of the whole, unmodified truth, even though Carlisle clearly thought of them all as family. But it was even more disturbing to realize that I was neither family—despite Alice's previous declaration on the airplane that she already considered me her sister—nor did I have any power like Edward's that necessitated that I would be "in the know".

Which led me to the question I'd been burning to ask since the very beginning of this terrifying revelation.

"H-has he used this power on me?" My voice was barely more than a whisper, and it shook violently with trepidation, but I knew that everyone in the room had heard it with their outrageous super-hearing. Despite this, Edward was determined to ignore my inquiry. But he wasn't fooling me with his pointedly looks in the other direction.. so I asked a second time… this time mustering all the brazen courage I could.

"Has Carlisle used this power on me, or not, Edward!?" I bellowed at the top of my lungs, shocking him out of his flimsy charade of not having heard me, and causing his whole frame to stiffen momentarily in alarm. It was nearly imperceptible, as he almost immediately relaxed, but for a tiny portion of a second I had managed to frighten Edward—a knowledge which made me swell with pride.

Edward quickly opened his mouth to answer, but then hesitated, a conflicted look passing over his sharp features and abruptly closed it. Once again I folded my arms disapprovingly across my chest, set my face into the deepest scowl I could manage without looking utterly ridiculous, and began tapping my sneakered foot impatiently. I absolutely _refused_ to wait until tomorrow on this one. I needed to know _now_.

After a few seconds of strangled silence, it was Caius who snapped first, rising swiftly out of his throne and darting with vampiric speed towards Edward, his icy white hands reaching viciously for the younger vampire's throat, and his expression simply murderous. He moved so fast, I barely registered a blur of white hair and the noisy flapping of his long cape in his wake, before all ten of his spindly fingers were fastened tightly around Edward's neck, and Caius had him hoisted several inches off the ground.

Caius stared unforgivingly into the eyes that were now so very close to his, his lips drawn fiercely over his teeth in a malefic sneer, and whispered threateningly, "I think it is in your best interest to answer the insignificant little human girl." His voice was quiet, but shrill, like a hiss. "It matters little to me, but Aro seems to be unwilling to allow our dinner to enter while she is still here."

I gasped as I realized that Aro was standing near the entrance of the room, instead of where he'd been standing merely moments ago. I wondered if he had moved at the same time as Caius, or if I had simply missed the sight and sound of his movements entirely. It appeared that he was conversing with a tall, mahogany-haired vampire who stood in front of a large crowd—a tour group, it looked like, from their candid photo-snapping and curious glances.

My heart sank and I repressed the mounting urge to vomit as I realized that they were what Caius meant when he said "dinner." I watched as the woman Aro was speaking to offered a quick understanding nod in his direction, before turning to the crowd, and leading them down the hall with a bright, tantalizing smile. They must be taking a slight detour, I supposed, before they wound up back here.

I was well-informed before my arrival in Italy that the Volturi were human-drinkers—and if I had not believed it from the many accounts I had received from the Cullens, I now had witnessed their telltale crimson eyes in the flesh. But I had never envisioned anything like this… All of those innocent tourists had no idea of the gruesome fate which awaited them. They were completely oblivious to the fact that they were the proverbial lambs being led to the slaughter.

The innocent smiles on their faces had been painful to look at—because I knew that those soft, carefree expressions would soon contort with insurmountable terror. And after they met their inevitable doom, their faces would likely be frozen that way forever. It made me physically sick—and I forced myself to swallow the caustic bile that was rising fast in my throat.

Once every last oblivious tourist was safely out of sight, Aro slowly shut the wooden door, and flitted back to his original position. The movement occurred at such a speed that it appeared that he had teleported. It seemed that one moment he was standing casually beside the entryway, and the next he stood alert between myself and the struggling pair of vampires. The only indication that he had used his long legs to cover the distance instead of been beamed in, _Star-Trek_-style, was his cape, which billowed dramatically behind him before settling smoothly against his back.

Despite Aro's return, Caius persisted in his harassment of Edward. "Certainly, you understand that it is… _unwise_ to keep a famished vampire waiting…" he trailed off ominously, licking his lips in anticipation of inflicting some unimaginably horrific things on the poor vampire in his death grip. Luckily, Edward didn't need to breathe—or else he would have been very dead already.

"Go ahead," Edward goaded him, his voice raspy and weak as he struggled to summon enough air to speak, "Kill me. See if I care."

Both Caius and I were stunned by the evident seriousness in Edward's tone, but I was more stunned by Caius' reaction to Edward's apathetic statement. He rapidly relinquished his grasp on the shorter vampire in disgust, as though Edward's skin was slimy and horribly unpleasant, before storming away in the direction of his throne, muttering something incomprehensible to himself. As Caius seated himself once again, and Edward gently rubbed at his neck where it had been locked in the white-haired vampire's grasp mere moments before, I thought I heard Caius grumble something that sounded like "suicidal freak", but I couldn't be sure.

Aro slowly drifted over to where Edward stood, the movement absolutely silent and impossibly graceful, with his arms outstretched as if intending to pull the injured vampire into a fatherly hug. Edward stiffened at the jarring sight of the ancient Volturi leader so shamelessly offering such an intimate thing, and shook his head back and forth vigorously to signify his distaste for the idea. Aro frowned fleetingly, before letting his arms drop gradually to his sides, as though he still harbored hope for Edward to accept his invitation—a hope which, judging by his mortified expression, Edward clearly didn't share.

For a moment, Aro leaned back slightly and surveyed the morose creature before him with a scrutinizing gaze before, without warning, his hand shot up and triumphantly brushed against Edward's cheek—and thus forcibly attained all of Edward's thoughts since their previous encounter. Edward glowered darkly at the underhanded move, but made no effort to remove the hand that continued to softly, yet brazenly stroke his face.

"…I am saddened, Edward." Aro's velvety voice cut through the awkward tension like a knife through butter, and although his tone was severe, I immediately felt more at ease. "I had hoped that with the knowledge that your _beloved_ was still alive that you would have relinquished your silly fatalistic desires," his voice tinged bitterly with sarcasm when his tongue rolled over the word "beloved" but it was otherwise pleasant. He sounded concerned, certainly, but seemed more interested in securing Edward's welfare, than exacting any form of punishment.

"Alas, it seems that I was mistaken," Aro lamented finally, dropping his hand, and giving a soft shake of his head. "Isabella will be _so _disappointed."

_Edward still wanted to die?_ I thought, disbelievingly—though I was more assured of the fact that I could probably live without him now, the idea of him throwing his life away like that still hurt. Didn't he understand that life was precious?

"Her name, is _Bella_." Edward ground out, but his voice lacked the full sincerity that I was accustomed to when he came to my defense. Instead he simply looked tired—exhausted by the idea of even performing a task as simple as breathing—and his eyes were dulled by an oppressive apathy, as though he had decided, now that Aro knew the truth, that there was no point in pretending to care about anything.

It shocked me to see him like this—for although he was undeniably prone to his fair share of moody moments, he had never appeared to have had the life vacuumed out of him, as he did now. His vacant expression was so unlike the Edward that I had known in Forks that, for a split second, I thought I was looking at Marcus instead. Concerned by this unnerving mistake, I wondered if it was possible that their apparent misery had originated from the same source….

To add credence to my theory, I hazarded a quick glance in Marcus' direction, and my heart skipped a beat as I suddenly reached an epiphany as to what that look in both their eyes meant:

It was practically written all over their faces.

Both Marcus and Edward had completely lost the will to live.

There was nothing, it seemed, that could fill the cavernous holes in their lives, and they were left as hardly more than cold, hard, empty shells of men. While Edward lacked the oppressive air of boredom which seemed to have taken up permanent residence around Marcus (likely from remaining in this state for far too long), both of their lightless eyes seemed to be begging for death. However, it seemed that Edward had the tenacity—or perhaps simply the stupidity—to ask for the release that the Volturi had evidently forbidden to bequeath to Marcus. And Edward had done this not just once, but _twice_.

But now that I was beginning to understand that Edward's reason for coming here to Volterra had absolutely nothing to do with me—as I had begun to suspect—and I was likely nothing more than a convenient excuse for him to achieve his self-destroying ends, I wasn't sure how I felt about that. I couldn't exactly beg him to live for "us" because I didn't want there to be an "us" anymore. I couldn't ask him to live for Carlisle, because it was now obvious that there was some heavy animosity and distrust between the two. And I couldn't ask him to live for anything else because he had never shown me anything other than myself that gave him a reason to remain alive….

I remembered that Edward had admitted to me that he had harbored suicidal thoughts in the past, which he said were because he thought himself to be a soulless monster—a belief that Carlisle had tried tirelessly to cure him of. But I had thought he had let those feelings go after we got together. I knew that there was something dark in his eyes sometimes, and after I had started studying more about his unusual hunger for my blood, I had assumed that it was always thirst, or guilt as a direct result of the thirst. But there were times when his eyes darkened in a way that could only be described as hopelessly sad—like a kicked puppy—and I couldn't look away.

The more I pondered it the more I understood that if Edward hadn't renounced his desire to die, and Carlisle remained adamant in his attempts to sustain him, Edward might resort to drastic measures. Like fabricating a tragic romance that was a sad parody of _Romeo and Juliet_, and asking the Volturi to deal the finishing blow.

Although it was unbelievably corny in hindsight, it was probably the only suicide that Carlisle would accept. Whether Edward had actually expected me to fling myself off a cliff in despair after he left, or whether that was simply a opportune coincidence was up for debate—although judging by the intensity of our relationship, and the way he kept insisting that we should be each other's reasons for living, complete with none-too-subtle Shakespeare references, I was inclined to believe the former.

It shocked me that someone I had once claimed to love so deeply could ultimately be so callous as to throw my life away to end his. But at the moment, it was the only explanation for Edward's bizarre behavior that was making any shred of sense.

And if that was true...

…my whole relationship with Edward Cullen had been a lie.


	6. Chapter 5: Gathering Darkness

**AN: So that was crazy, right? Edward still wants to die! What a weirdo... And we still have no idea whether or not Carlisle has altered Bella's memories. Remember, Bella at this point doesn't understand that she has a "shield", she just thinks she's some kind of freaky exception only to Edward's powers. She has no idea that she can block others-like Aro-because Edward is the only vampire she's known whose powers can't effect her at this point. Alice can still see her, since it doesn't involve a direct intrusion of her mind, and Jasper can still affect her, because his powers are physical instead of mental. Whether or not Carlisle's gift can breech her shield is something you'll have to read and find out ;) But it will be discussed in future chapters, I promise. **

**Also, in this chapter I use a sparse bit of Italian (like, one phrase that shouldn't be hard to deduce)-and _not_ the famous "la tua cantante". I did a fair bit of research on Italian grammar and I'm 98% sure I got it right, but if any native speakers are amongst my readers, validation or correction would be appreciated. Anyone who needs a translation can always ask, and I'll put it in the author's notes for the next chapter, or you can just look it up. For how small this phrase is, even the notorious Google Translate will work. **

**And... on with the show! **

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**Chapter Five: Gathering Darkness**

The sound of smooth hands clapping together echoed through the tense, stale air that now permeated the room, as Aro brought them swiftly together in the air to the side of his face. "Let's get back to the topic at hand, shall we?" he suggested cheerily, as though we were discussing something as benign as the weather. Evidently I thought memory-modification powers, and a suicidal vampire who had used me in an attempt to achieve his morbid ends were much graver topics than he did.

"We were just in the middle of a _fascinating _discussion about our dear friend Carlisle," Aro continued, his eyes sparkling with boundless enthusiasm, "before your dear _brother_ decided not to answer a very important question." The distaste in his voice was unmistakable, but it almost sounded more as though Edward's refusal was nothing greater than a mild nuisance—like an infinitesimal spot of mud on Aro's favorite pair of shoes. However, his expression left no doubt that he was beyond irate with my ex-boyfriend's stubbornness.

"First, you wanted to know whether or not our friend Carlisle has utilized his powers to alter your memories," he reminded me. "Although I am already aware of the answer, I would ask your brother to share the tale himself," he paused for a moment, his eyes flickering darkly in Edward's direction for the tiniest of moments, before they resumed their warm regard of the nervous human in front of them. The exchange so quick I almost missed it.

"But it seems he is... _regrettably_ unwilling to do so," Aro said with a mild frown.

A long pause followed his words during which a cloud departed from where it had been blocking one of the high windows and the sunlight danced over the crystalline planes of Aros hands and face. As his face glittered dazzlingly , I wondered if Aro expected Edward to contribute something to the conversation. Edward obviously didn't get the memo—he remained rock-still and utterly silent.

"However," Aro spoke to me suddenly, as though just stricken with an amazing epiphany. "It would be infinitely more convincing for you to see with your own eyes what I have seen with mine."

_See with my own eyes what he had seen with his?_ I questioned internally, entirely confounded by his words. _Like... see other's memories? Was that even possible? Could Aro somehow share his gift with others? Or was he talking about something else completely? _

I was jerked from my thoughts when Aro slowly set his right hand on my shoulder. I knew it was meant as an innocently consoling gesture, but knowing the immense power that lurked within that hand—a hand which had probably caressed as many as it had killed—I was torn between feelings of extreme fear, and feelings of morbid attraction. There was something perversely sexy about being touched so tenderly by the same hand that had probably slaughtered thousands.

Wait… _what_?

I did _not_ just think that.

Aro's smile grew, and for a horrifying moment I wondered if he had read my thoughts, until I recalled that his hand was only making contact with the damp fabric of my long-sleeved button-up shirt and not my bare skin. Instead, his smile grew in response to the words he knew he was going to speak next—words which I supposed he wasn't afforded to opportunity to say very often:

"My daughters will be delighted to assist you."

_Daughters?_ I wondered at his usage of the familial term, and wondered if he meant the term literally and was referring to girls he had fathered during his human life, and then transformed into vampires, or if he simply referred to those he had changed personally as though they were his "children." The idea of Aro procreating with anyone—even thousands of years ago—left a bitter taste in my mouth.

In response to Aro's offer of assistance, two short figures who were sheathed in hooded black cloaks began walking towards us. They were barely tall enough to reach my waist, and their diminutive size allowed them to weave expertly through the crowd of taller vampires who stood around the edges of the room. As they breached the front row of the bodies huddled along the wall, stepping into the wide space in the center where Edward, Alice, Aro and I stood, both of the tiny figures broke into an inhumanly fast dash, their hoods flying back, and cloaks blowing open in the wind.

What I saw next, however, completely blew my mind.

The two figures were both arrayed in frilly, multi-layered dresses, which were bordered with lace on every edge and smothered in ribbons and bows. The gowns were crafted in a manner reminiscent of Rococo Era royalty, though all the fabrics used were either blood-red or pitch black, instead of the soft pastels favored by mortals of that time period.

But while their ostentatious manner of dress was confusing, even more shocking were their features. Instead of simply being unusually short, albeit full-grown adults, the two were identical little girls, who appeared no more than the age of six or seven. The girls had long, straight black hair styled with elegant clips, and round, childish eyes the same ruby hue as Aro's, although several shades brighter. Their skin refracted the sunlight in the characteristic way of the undead, and their gleaming white teeth were perfectly straight—something quite unusual for human girls that age.

In short, they were extremely young vampires.

The two small girls rushed excitedly towards Aro, releasing a series of high-pitched, chime-like giggles, and clutched their skirts with their tiny pale fingers to keep themselves from tripping over them. Aro's face positively glowed as they approached, and he swiftly bent to scoop them up—seizing one girl in each arm with an odd combination of tenderness and supernatural strength. As he rose to his feet, he hoisted them both up to rest on his hips.

It was strange—they acted as though Aro was their father in the literal sort of way, and the startling similarities between the three of them further supported that assumption. But I couldn't understand why he would choose to turn them at such a young age. His daughters would be frozen at that juvenile stage of physical and emotional development forever, and to do that to anyone, especially one's own children, seemed impossibly cruel. There was also the fact that I vaguely remembered Alice mentioning something about creating immortal children being one of the biggest crimes in Volturi law. And although I hadn't known him for very long, Aro didn't seem like the kind of man who would be such an obvious hypocrite.

But I failed to see any other feasible alternatives—the two twin girls had all the telltale features of vampirism, and Rosalie had been pretty adamant when she said that vampires were sterile.

Perhaps, they were something else that Aro had chosen to adopt—maybe a genetic cousin to vampires? No... that didn't make any sense...

"My darling little princesses, I have something to ask of you," Aro said, his voice barely above a whisper, and so saccharine with fatherly adoration it could almost be considered cooing. The twins giggled in delight at the hopelessly spoiled treatment they were receiving before responding in eerie unison: "We already know, father. You want us to show the human the truth about the golden-eyed one."

I took an uneasy step backwards—no two people, vampires or not, should be in such perfect sync to say that many words in exactly the same way at the exact same time. Although their voices differed slightly from another, one a high childish soprano, and the other nearly an alto despite its youth, creating a beautiful harmony when they spoke, it was almost as if there was only one mind between the two of them. I seriously contemplated the possibility, given the plethora of weird legends surrounding twins (especially identical ones), prior experience having taught me not to discount such myths immediately. But the notion seemed a bit too bizarre to be real. Perhaps they simply had a mind-link—that would not be overly unusual.

My musings were cut short, however, as the girl resting against Aro's left hip, and clinging to his shoulder spoke alone, her voice the higher-pitched of the two: "I'll do anything for you, _il mio padre_," she answered, beaming with exuberant joy, throwing her precious little arms enthusiastically around Aro's neck, and depositing a small, swift kiss on his forehead. The scene was so magnificently adorable, I had to purse my lips firmly together to keep a sentimental "aww" from slipping out.

"I won't," the other girl bit out impetuously. She twisted her petite, doll-like face into the fiercest scowl she could manage, crossed her tiny arms staunchly over her chest, and turned up her nose in her best imitation of Caius' recent sulky behavior.

I held a hand over my mouth and tried to repress a laugh—though I was not entirely successful, as a small chuckle managed to escape before I could contain it. Although this young girl sitting on Aro's right hip was certainly giving her very best attempt at looking imposing and indomitable, her chubby cheeks and large round eyes seemed to cancel out all the ferocity she had mustered in her features. If anything, her vicious expression only served to make her even more darling.

Aro's face turned to the girl on his right, and he positively melted, his eyes wide with shock and desperation, and his face pained, as though her rejection had dealt him a physical blow. His eyes even looked teary, and I was entirely certain that he was exaggerating, because he probably dealt with silly things like this all the time. But the little girl brooding in her expensive gown totally bought the act.

"I…" her young alto voice faltered with her slipping resolve, and she fisted her tiny hands in frustration with herself for being so easily swayed. "I'll only help if you promise me another dress!" she conceded spitefully, whipping her head around to face her father, her waist-length black hair twirling mesmerizingly around her. "Lucretia ripped my other one," she indicted, sending an accusatory crimson-eyed glare in the direction of her twin sister.

"I didn't do it on purpose!" the girl I now knew to be Lucretia retorted vehemently.

"Yes you did!" the other refuted with equal passion.

"No I didn't!" Lucretia defended, her voice rising to a painfully loud volume, which combined with its high-pitch, rattled my eardrums violently like microphone feedback. I immediately felt bad for Aro, who, with his super-hearing and closer proximity to the hazardous sound waves was probably in unbearable agony.

"Yes you d—" the alto began angrily, before she was abruptly cut off by her "father".

"Titania, dear," he implored smoothly, his brow still slightly wrinkled in response to the recent aural onslaught, but his voice effortlessly soft and tender like melting butter. "Certainly another dress can be arranged, but at the moment I need both of you to behave," he lectured gently, casting each one of his daughters a loving, but stern look, which offered no provision for complaints. "This is very important."

Titania wriggled uncomfortably for a moment under her father's piercing gaze before settling resignedly and offering a small, curt nod. "Yes, father," she responded in perfect unison with her sister—though Titania's voice was decidedly less cheery.

"You have my sincerest thanks, my dears," Aro responded gratefully, before he bent fluidly and set the twins on the ground once again. Their tiny black-booted feet darted in my direction in perfect as soon as they touched the flagstone, though their expressions were as different as night and day. Lucretia wore a gleeful smile and Titania wore a grudging scowl.

As the twin vampires approached me, their father floating slowly behind, Edward's face became panicked. He surged forward a few steps, when they neared, his posture tense, combative and his teeth bared.

"No, you can't do this!" He snarled riotously, "she can't know—she wasn't meant to be exposed to stuff like this…." The veins on his forehand and knuckles looked like they were ready to burst—although if they did, it wouldn't really matter, as they were completely dry anyway. I supposed it might still hurt, though. "I didn't tell her for a reason!" he carried on fervidly, his fists shaking with uninhibited fury, "It would be better if she—"

Aro whirled to face Edward, his cape swirling menacingly around him, and his deadly expression immediately stopped the younger vampire's angry rant. "Are you trying to apologize for that fact that you introduced her to our world?" he responded furiously, with a snarl of his own, which made all the hairs on my body prickle in fascination and fear. "Or for the fact that you callously used her in a pathetic attempt to terminate your own life?" he countered bitterly, his marble-like lips sneering in disgust. "Because I fear it is far too late for either, Edward."

Edward looked torn between rolling his eyes at the melodramatic statement, gaping in shock at the fact that I now knew his dirty little secret (which I had already figured out on my own) and trying to ascertain how swiftly he could goad the ancient vampire into killing him. But instead of inspiring fright, his mixed emotions resulted in an expression that looked—constipated.

But even more startling than Edward's humorous manifestation of his inner turmoil, were my own feelings about the confrontation unfolding before me. Although when I had initially entered this room I had begged the cosmos to spare Edward's life at the cost of all else, I was now rescinding that pathetic plea. Instead I diverted my request toward sparing the lives of myself and Alice—the innocent victims of this nasty scheme. Or so I believed.

I still irrationally hoped that Edward would change his mind and decide to try to live a happy life, (obviously one without me as his girlfriend) but I sincerely doubted he was going to leave Italy by any other means than giving up the ghost. If there was one truth I had learned about Edward during our factitious months together, it was that he was obtusely stubborn—if he wanted something, he would stop at nothing to obtain it.

Aro raised a delicate black eyebrow at the peculiar concoction of emotion on Edward's face, before he instantly composed and continued, languidly gesturing in my direction. "Our Isabella is a perceptive one," he commented appraisingly, his mouth curling slowly into a soft smile. "And I am certain she would have deduced the truth of our world, and your trickery sooner or later," he added, his beautiful white teeth glistening as he spoke.

His incredible faith he had in my observation skills caused my cheeks to flush darkly.

Edward frowned but remained silent and motionless.

"Ah, but it is still, such a waste," Aro lamented, and for a terrifying second I thought we were back to talking about my ridiculously delectable blood—_really, is that all that vampires can talk about? I know that it's supposed to be better than sex, but still…_—until he continued. His voice grew bitter and acerbic, and his eyes seethed with unrivaled revulsion. "Such a waste that you would prefer our lovely Isabella not to embrace her heart's true desire."

_My what? My heart's true desire? _I thought incredulously. _Why would that be a waste? It's not like he really cares—or does he? And what would my true heart's desire even be? Now that I knew that Edward had betrayed me, that only left… _

_Oh. **Oh**_. _That would make perfect sense._

"See, Edward?" Alice chirped delightedly, bouncing up and down on her heels, her thin gloved arms swaying around her, and her floral scarf rippling in the slight breeze. "Even Aro can tell that Bella wants to be like us!" Her lilting soprano voice was warring between pleading and ecstatic—but it seemed that ecstasy won in the end, and she beamed, an enormous smile stretching across her cute heart-shaped face.

"Shut up, Alice!" Edward barked viciously, venom pooling rapidly in his mouth, and his golden eyes glowering at her onyx irises—as though there was something off about them. "She doesn't know what she's asking for!" He insisted loudly, his tightly balled fists clenching and unclenching, as though his pale fingers were searching for something to latch onto and crush between them, "She doesn't really want that…"

"On the contrary," Aro interposed, his tone contemplative, and his lengthy fingers resting against his chin in deep thought. "It has been such a long time since I have seen one so sure of what she wants." The corner of his lip suddenly curved upwards, as though tugged by an invisible puppet-string, and his eyes took on a mirthful glint as though he had thought of a particularly intriguing idea. "It is tempting…" he mused aloud, his calculating gaze flickering animatedly between Edward, Alice and I, and the pearly white hand on his chin dropped to interlock with the other in front of his waist. "I might simply give it to her myself."

"You wouldn't dare!" Edward howled irately, before suddenly bolting forward with his hands drawn back and tensed open, as though preparing to savagely scratch Aro's eyes out.

Before he could get very far, Alice dashed across the floor with amazing speed, despite the seven-inch stiletto heels on her knee-high boots, and caught him securely in her tiny arms, dragging him backwards with all her might. This time however, her grip on him didn't seem to be enough to hold him back, as she was starting to slide forward along the pale stone floors, her heels scraping against the ground in a futile attempt to regain her footing. With a panicked expression on her face, she inclined her head toward Demetri and Felix who stood at the forefront of the crowd of vampires huddled around the edges of the room, silently imploring them to help her.

Both vampires rushed forward, their black velvety cloaks billowing dramatically behind them, and each seized one of Edward's madly flailing arms in both of theirs, before planting their feet firmly on the stone and pulling backwards with all their might. Despite their strong hold, Edward still surged forward, and there was a sickening cracking sound, like slowly breaking ice, followed by a horrendous _snap_, and a mortifying scream. As Edward moaned in excruciating pain, the two Volturi brothers stood superiorly on either side of him, each holding a severed arm, which were both still twitching wildly despite their recent detachment.

As the Volturi struggled to subdue Edward's dismembered appendages, I wanted to scream myself—the scene was certainly ghastly enough to warrant it, even though it was bloodless carnage. However, my throat seemed incapable of making any sound other than a fragile, frightened whimper. I knew his arms could be reconnected, so long as they weren't cast into a fire, but that knowledge did nothing to mitigate the sheer horror of watching someone get torn apart like that. It was just so ridiculously violent. It made my own arms twitch in sympathetic discomfort.

Now lacking an important pair of limbs, and trapped in Alice's suffocating clutches around his neck, Edward finally slumped in defeat, and halted his frantic progress toward Aro. A wry smile tugged at Edward's lips, despite the scrunched look of agony of his face, as though he was pleased that he had managed to get this close to his aberrant goals. The thought that Edward was deriving some kind of masochistic pleasure out of all of this made me even more sick.

"I will not transform her at the moment, of course," Aro spoke conversationally, as though we were all excellently good friends, and nothing at all violent had just occurred. He twirled one hand lazily in the air to punctuate the validity of his statement. "I want her to make an informed decision—to force a change on her without that would be barbaric, really."

"Oh and you're one to talk about what's _barbaric_…" Edward hissed through his teeth towards the two Volturi guards beside him, still clutching his gross, flopping arms. Alice frowned sadly at Edward's assessment, but I could tell from her eyes that she partially agreed with him—the only reason she was not more visibly distraught with the situation, however, probably had to do with the fact that Edward had brought it on himself.

"You're rather _civilized_ yourself—trying to scratch my eyes out with your bare hands," Aro countered sarcastically, leaving his daughters at my side and sliding over the smooth stone closer to Edward's mangled form.

"I wasn't going for your _eyes_…" Edward clarified, his tone menacing, eyes blacked with wicked satisfaction, and his mouth warped into a hideously sadistic smile.

A mortified look of comprehension dawned on Aro's face before he elicited a dark chuckle. "…Oh, you would really stoop _that low_, and then presume to lecture me about barbarism?"

"I wasn't going for _that_ either, you sicko," Edward spat in obvious disgust.

"Of course not," his melodious voice, though flawlessly polite, seemed thoroughly unconvinced. "Because the Edward I know is the _perfect_ gentleman," he said with a slight snort—the strange noise somehow managing to still sound angelic, despite its oddity. He gave the barest roll of his deep scarlet eyes.

"Don't mock me…" Edward threatened—although it was rather unsuccessful, as it was difficult to look dangerous when one was slumped awkwardly, held in a fierce headlock by their petite sister, and currently sporting jagged stubs instead of proper arms.

Aro's head sailed back, his silky black hair soaring in a beautiful arc along with it, and he erupted into maniacal laughter at the perversely hilarious scene before him. "That is a… difficult request, I'm afraid," he replied, his face alight with a crazed happiness, and his whole body shaking uncontrollably from the humor of such a hopelessly damaged creature making such a forceful demand.

_This man is totally insane, _I realized. _One minute he's the perfect dad, then he's all serious, next he's furious, and then he's sarcastic, and now he's laughing his head off. His mood-swings are worse than PMS! What is wrong with this guy? And why, through all of this, do I still think he's ludicrously sexy?_

As abruptly as it had begun, Aro's disturbing laughter suddenly ceased, and there became a gravity about him—a thick, daunting seriousness that seemed to make everything in the room feel heavier. There was an uncomfortable moment of silence—which seemed to stretch on for minutes—though it probably didn't even comprise one. I shivered violently when he finally spoke, his voice formidable and cascading like a liquid dark chocolate: it was smooth and beautiful, but hot enough to burn.

"But I may grant your wish for Isabella's sake," he droned forebodingly, triggering a bewildered look to cross my own features, earning a disapproving gasp from Alice, and causing Edward's amber eyes to widen in extreme disbelief. _Was he really saying what I thought he was saying?_

"There have been far too many interruptions, thus far," Aro explained curtly, his floor-length robes and cape ghosting elegantly over the ground as he swept closer to Edward's tortured body. "While it pains me to succumb to your manipulations," he articulated with stricken pride, raising his lean arm slowly in preparation to strike. "You have given me no other choice."

"Although you may have exceptional powers—for which reason I originally spared you—you _waste_ them!" he unexpectedly shouted, the startling display of his razor-sharp temper causing everyone in the room, even the other vampires, to jump in fright. "…Just as you have wasted every other good thing that you have been blessed with!" Aro's voice was so overcome with loathing that his arm began to shake slightly as it hung in the air, directly above Edward's head.

"_You_, Edward Cullen, are a _waste_," he seethed, as though that fact made Edward some sort of hellish abomination.

"And for that, I, Aro of the Volturi, am going to _end_ you."


	7. Chapter 6: Incursion of the Mind

**Update 9/19/2014: I cut some of the fluff. And I'm sorry if the pacing has become agonizingly slow-it speeds up soon I promise. **

**AN: ****I am curious as to how you guys feel about the twins-Lucretia and Titania. I know, I know more OCs. I promise they won't be the main focus of the story (no OC plot worms here) I just need some convenient tools to move things along, and they work rather nicely. ;)**

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** Chapter Six: Incursion of the Mind**

Everything was suddenly happening too fast.

Just moments after Aro's staggering declaration, Alice slipped swiftly out of her firm headlock around Edward, causing him to haggardly fall to his knees against the cool stone floor. After relinquishing her grasp, Alice hopped backwards from him, touching down with one foot a few times between jumps, with an echoing: _tap, tap, tap. _Her gloved arms were spread wide behind her as she sailed through the air, which, along with her stylishly loose sweater, gave off the impression that she was some strange species of bat. As her boots collided harshly with the pavement the final time, there was a loud _clack_, and I could see that she had landed in a low crouched position, a safe distance away from the center of the room, with one hand splayed wide on the floor for balance.

While the sound of stiletto heels striking rock was still reverberating powerfully in my ears, Aro's raised arm began to descend lethally over Edward's head. Despite the terror I felt as the deadly appendage plummeted, Edward betrayed no outward signs of fear, but instead held obediently still with a lopsided grin etching his pristine features in eager anticipation of his impending doom. Aro's hand sliced through the air in a motion that seemed to indicate he was going to cleave Edward's skull in half, karate-chop-style—and although it was certainly an unorthodox approach to vampire slaying, I had no doubt that it would be just as fatal.

A blood-curdling scream tore through my dry throat, "No! Don't kill him, please!" I begged Aro hysterically, bolting forward several steps, and throwing up a halting hand even though I knew it was already too late to stop him.

Horrified by the prospect of witnessing the gruesome results of Aro's wrath, I squeezed my eyes shut as tightly as I could manage to block the view of the brain-butchery that would shortly occur, and ducked my head into my chest. I also cupped my hands over my ears to hopefully somewhat muffle the accompanying sounds.

I cringed and my entire being trembled pathetically as I waited impatiently for any indication of commotion. But the only sound I heard in the tormenting moments which followed my futile plea was my own blood ringing in my ears. There was no sickening crack of diamond hard skin. No rustling of capes to signify a horde of vampires rushing to dispose of the body. No roar of flames. No cruel laughter from Caius at the brutal entertainment his brother had provided. No apology from Alice for abandoning Edward in such a critical moment. No remorseful speech from Aro about how wasteful this all was—

Nothing.

Just agonizing silence.

It must have happened so fast that I missed it.

Very slowly I lifted the heavy lids of my eyes, and squirmed involuntarily as I realized that all the eyes in the room were firmly fixed on me—and not on the space of ground where the broken pieces of Edward's mangled body should be lying. Instinctively I lowered my head away from their piercing gazes, and wanted nothing more than to keep my eyes firmly fastened on the large stones beneath my feet. But in the end, my curiosity got the better of me (as it always does) and I found my head slowly rising.

At first, my blurry vision brought three pairs of legs into view. One pair was shrouded in long black robes, another cased in taupe, ruffled, knee-high boots, and the third clad in casual black jeans, their feet tucked out of sight in their kneeling position. As my eyes hesitantly rose over the figures, I tensed my hands into tight fists and chewed on my lower lip in preparation for the horrific scene that was sure to greet me when my line of sight climbed high enough. I felt droplets of sweat beading on my forehead, and my heart pound thunderously against my ribcage as Edward's simple button-up, Alice's warm-toned sweater, and Aro's Volturi-crest pendant filled my vision.

But when my observing gaze ascended further, I was shocked to discover that all the marble-esque necks of the three were still firmly connected to their heads. And Edward's fiercely scowling face was completely intact.

Aro's hand still hovered menacingly above the younger vampire's head. But had came to an abrupt standstill, the tawny locks of Edward's spikey hair barely tickling his skin.

Aro's head turned to face me and his brows quirked in curiosity. "Even after all the pain he has caused you, you do not want to see him perish," His tone was perplexed, and yet awestruck, as though my consideration for Edward's life in spite of the immense hurt he had caused me was a truly miraculous thing.

Gradually Aro's hand fell to his side, before he glided closer. "Why is that?" he queried. His gaze was penetrating and full of intrigue. A delightful shiver raced down my spine at his intense interest coupled with increased proximity.

I swallowed nervously. _What did he want me to say?_ It was impossible to predict the unfathomably long-lived vampire, as his overall demeanor was polished and cerebral, but his moods constantly fluctuated—he could transform from an impeccable gentleman to a manic observer to a ruthless executioner in a matter of minutes! He had expressed profound interest in some "super power" I unknowingly possessed. But he had also suggested to Edward that it had been a waste that he had not killed me for my blood. I had absolutely no idea what he believed would be an acceptable answer, and what could possibly trigger his unstoppable fury, and lead to my own rapid disposal.

So I settled on telling the truth.

"Because I know that he's a good person," I responded resolutely, pleased to find that, despite the enormous pressure I felt, my tone was steady and unwavering. "Even though he lied to me and used me, he did tell me the truth about one thing—he can't stand the idea of hurting anyone innocent. And I can't stand that either," I explained confidently, flickering a glance over at Edward, whose oppressively gloomy expression had turned shocked at my admission, before watching Aro very closely for his reaction.

Aro seemed to consider my response for a moment. His long, thin fingers idly tapped his chin, and his eyes drifted to the tall rectangular windows several stories above, before he resumed his blazing scrutiny of my person. "Ah, so you must believe the rest of us..." he swept an arm out in a grand gesture toward the rest of the vampires in the room, "...to be soulless… monsters…" he concluded.

"No… not soulless," I replied firmly—I absolutely refused to believe anything else, even though Carlisle, who I didn't trust very much at the moment, was the originator of the idea. Nothing else made sense. Didn't the fact that Aro and I were having this morally complex discussion prove that he had some sort of conscience? Even if it was a twisted one?

I paused as I tried to phrase my next sentence carefully, so as to not invoke Aro's wrath. Knowing that it was a sensitive topic—or it least it had been between Aro and Carlisle—I wanted to choose the least disrespectful terminology I could think of. I didn't particularly revel in the idea of having my head cruelly sliced in half, or some other equally gruesome method of death by his bare hands.

"But I can't say that I agree with your choice of… _lifestyle_," I said finally, mentally wincing at the notion that I was making the Volturi's habitual murdering sound like something as harmless as preferring rural areas over the city, or expensive French cuisine instead of hamburgers and fries. Certainly even the craziest zealots for politeness couldn't fault my description for being offensive, however since human life was involved, I wondered if I should have used stronger words instead of being so soft—my safety be damned.

Someone had to stand up for the human race.

Aro's eyes sparkled in amusement and a demented smirk summarily overtook his features at my sensitive choice of words. "And I do not suppose we can simply, ah what is the colloquialism again, 'agree to disagree' on this matter?" he offered pleasantly, my slender brows furrowing in frustration as I realized I had walked straight into that one, and his smirk widening into a positively manic grin. "After all, I have no intention of harming _you_, dear Isabella," he purred seductively, extending a hand toward me in a gracious gesture.

"No." I shook my head strongly. This time I had summoned enough bravery to make a stand, though I was still warring aggressively with my uncontrollable lust for the ancient vampire. "You can't pick and choose like that." I struggled to exile the elation I felt that I was some kind of special exception in Aro's eyes—I should not be happy that others were going to be murdered in my place. "All human life is precious."

"I never said it was not," Aro spoke defensively, spreading a pale hand over his chest as though he was physically wounded by my assumption. The whitish-silver chains supporting his cape gleamed beneath his dexterous fingers. "Human life is indeed very valuable," he continued with a cordial smile.

Until he saw my eyes rolling. O_f course,_ I thought sarcastically._ Because you eat them. _

Aro's friendly face promptly contorted into a disappointed frown. "It is _priceless_ even—and not just as sustenance," he asserted, his tone surprisingly serious, as though he truly attributed the lives of 'insignificant mortals' the same value I did. "I have nothing but the utmost appreciation for their sacrifice," Aro spoke solemnly now, reverently even. He sounded like he felt deeply indebted to all the humans whose lives he had taken over the thousands of years of his existence, and he even stooped in the slightest of bows to punctuate his statement.

I blinked in total confusion.

When I had heard that the Volturi had "no respect for human life", this was absolutely _not _what I had been expecting. It was apparent, from the vicious actions and condescending behaviors of the other Volturi that I had encountered thus far, that not all shared Aro's appreciative outlook on humanity. But it was earth-shattering enough that _any_ of them thought that way at all. To have such a profound reverence for human life that transcended the mere tastiness of their blood when he took their lives so frequently was astounding. It didn't excuse anything—simply being appreciative did nothing to change the fact that Aro and the Volturi were murderers.

But it was so surprising that I was completely lost for words.

After several extended moments of silence, Aro spoke again, resuming his regal posture and restoring his authoritative air, after his brief display of unnerving humility. "There will be an eternity of time in the future for more discussions of this nature," he declared, as though my imminent vampirism was already set in stone, and I'd already agreed to join him.

I grimaced at the thought, but was very relieved that it was horribly unlikely, if I had anything to say about it. He did say earlier he wanted my consent, something I would be sure to hold him to when things didn't pan out as he had planned.

"However, I suggest we return to the activity proposed before," he invited politely, extending one hand it in my direction to indicate that I was the one being spoken to. His wording was impeccable as always, and his tone of voice betrayed no anger or desire to coerce. But it was painfully clear, from his authoritative stance, and the way his arm had moved a fraction too quickly, that compliance to his whims was not optional.

I morbidly considered what might happen if I were to refuse his request, before my self-preservation won out.

"My dear Isabella," he spoke my name so rapturously, as though I was pure divinity, which of course excited the all-too-excitable butterflies in my stomach once again. "It would be my honor to allow you to see for yourself just how greatly you have been deceived."

Edward produced a low, quiet growl in response to the insinuation of his dishonesty.

Aro cast him a warning glance, before his countenance shifted rapidly to convey contempt and mock-sympathy. "It truly is a pity that we will have to… ah, _postpone the festivities_ until a later time," he lamented sarcastically. His white lips twisted into a ridiculing sneer, and his fingertips tapped each other idly in a mesmerizing rhythm. "Although, I must admit…" He mused aloud, his gaze drifting towards the domed ceiling, appearing to ponder the unexpected benefits of our current situation. "It will be immensely satisfying to see your expression when she denounces you entirely," Aro concluded, his eyes sparkling with a sadistic delight.

Edward appeared to take this as his cue to shut up.

"How are you going to show me—you said, I could see the truth for myself…?" I enquired nervously. My voice trailed off uncertainly into the cool, musty air of the castle turret, and my toes curled anxiously in my soggy tennis shoes.

"Through my memories, of course," he responded as though it was obvious, though his melodious tone lacked the condescension that would have made the statement rude. He simply looked surprised that he had forgotten to inform me.

"You can show me your memories?" I blurted out incredulously, and immediately regretted it. I lost my composure so easily. It was embarrassing compared to Aro's ridiculous unflappability.

"Ah, you see that is my daughters' special gift," he clarified smoothly, gesturing to the twin vampires (at least I was pretty sure they were vampires) beside me.

_So that's what he meant by "my daughters will assist you" _I realized suddenly as I looked towards them. The girls were making their best effort to stand still, but apparently it proved to difficult for them. They fidgeted super-humanly fast and making humorous, childish faces at each other when they thought their "father" wasn't looking.

"Titania can read minds, and Lucretia can transmit her memories into the minds of others," Aro elaborated educationally, with a proud fatherly smile as his protracted arm pointed first to the little alto, and then to her identical soprano sister. "Both of these powers operate much like mine—they require physical contact," he added with a graceful flourish of his wrist. "My daughters also possess a unique mind-link with each other which allows them to communicate when in close proximity."

_So I was right about the mind-link after all, _I thought, pleased with my apt observation skills.

"And when my daughters touch…" Aro curled his hands around each other demonstratively, his movements fluid and tantalizing, "...they can utilize their powers in tandem by creating a chain of sorts. In this chain Titania reads someone's mind, then transfers those memories to her sister, who can then deposit them in the mind of another."

I paused for a moment to envision what he had just described, imagining Aro's twin girls holding hands in the center of this potent formation, with each using their free hand to touch someone else, creating some strange assembly line of mind-sharing. It appeared, from his candid description, that Aro employed these tiny girls to use this combined power of theirs on a regular basis—which would mean that even those who lacked mind-reading powers could share experiences if Aro wished it. For some unknowable reason I pictured Caius and Marcus on the opposite ends of the telepathic little girls and it caused me to wondered if the twins had ever been used as a team-bonding exercise—before I dismissed the idea as absolutely ludicrous. The Volturi were a coven that seemed to pride itself in austerity, sadism and fortitude—_not_ in playful camaraderie and dorky trust exercises.

Still, the idea of Marcus sharing his feelings of eternal boredom with Caius was simply hilarious. I had to choke back a laugh at my mind's vision of the white-haired vampire's irritated expression and total revulsion towards the experience, while Marcus continued to stare at nothing in particular.

Once I'd composed myself, and apprehensively tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear, I asked: "So… they want to use this power on me… to show me things that you've seen?"

It was still bizarre to consider that a man who had the power to invade everyone else's privacy would so graciously allow me to invade his—certainly he must know how unnerving it was to share personal experiences in that manner. Of course, he didn't give the impression that he minded Edward's ability to read his thoughts, or that one of his daughters could. Perhaps being constantly surrounded by telepaths of one kind or another had caused him to grow accustomed to lacking any sort of individual confidentiality.

"I can also show you things that Edward and Carlisle have seen, for I, with my gift, have seen everything which they have seen," Aro answered.

"That's… a little confusing," I responded, befuddled by all the crazy thought-ception going on here.

"Do not dismay, dear Isabella," Aro reassured me, his voice effortlessly gentle, pleasant and comforting like a warm fleece blanket as he floated forward, bringing his gorgeous face so close to mine. His cool breath blew across my lips and cheeks as he spoke. "Simply know that what you will be seeing will be entirely real, unadulterated by Carlisle's alterations," he soothed, and for some unfathomable reason—most likely something to do with the fact that he was so close and temptingly kissable—I believed him entirely.

Suddenly, Aro ducked his head to whisper chillingly above my neck. A few of his long ebony locks slipped forward and brushed against my collarbone, causing me to involuntarily stiffen at his intimate proximity.

"The truth may disturb you," he warned, his breath tickling my skin. "But you must relax, or else the connection may be severed."

As Aro glided backwards a couple feet, his robe fluttering slightly against the flagstone, I chewed on my lip and offered a shaky nod.

I wasn't really sure that relaxing was even possible when I was anywhere near that man. Getting hot and bothered was almost a given in his seductive presence. Fearing for my life took a close second, as I knew him to be extremely dangerous. And trying to wrap my head around his rapidly warping moods probably came next—but relaxing? That was _not_ going to happen. Not unless he suddenly left the country.

Perceiving my trembling gesture of acquiescence to be an invitation, the two black-haired girls in their iridescent gowns skipped happily over to me. They held one another's tiny hands in a tight grasp as they approached, and their wide red-eyes flickered between Aro and myself as they settled quickly into the space between us. The girl I knew to be named Lucretia, with the higher-pitched voice and the overall sunnier demeanor extended her chubby little arm with her palm facing upwards. The gesture was such a close mimicry Aro's earlier incitement to seize his hand that it startled me.

It was clear that this small child deeply loved and revered Aro, for she was even attempting to pull off his contradictingly polite and commanding air... Without success. Instead she just looked unsettlingly ecstatic.

Trying not to panic, despite the bright ruby eyes and huge toothy grin that were fixated on me, I slowly lowered my hand into hers. I gasped as the iciness of her petite fingers bit through the warmth of my much larger hand. She ignored my reaction, still beaming like a maniac while she eagerly twisted to watch her sister hesitantly place her little hand in Aro's. His hand dwarfed hers to an even greater degree, although they were probably the same temperature.

As soon as their hands touched, the chain was complete. I felt a dizzying rush, like a surge of electricity, pass from Aro's sturdy frame into young Titania, then through the small hands of both girls firmly interlocked in the middle into Lucretia, who passed the current to me. I squeezed my eyes forcefully shut in anticipation of a painful and intrusive impact, and my knuckles whitened as my grip on Lucretia's unyielding little hand unwillingly grew somewhat tighter.

But I felt nothing.

The only indication I had that anything had happened was that Lucretia was suddenly wriggling desperately in my grip, as though terrified and trying to escape. As soon as my sluggish human brain finally registered what was going on, I promptly released her and opened my eyes. Lucretia had fallen to the ground and was quivering violently, her large round eyes brimming with unmasked fear, and her little hands holding her head on both sides the way one would cradle a serious injury. At first I thought that she had hit her head when she fell and was about to apologize profusely for whatever I had unknowingly done when I was interrupted by Titania.

"Father, it seems that we cannot show her," Titania observed gravely. Her somber expression added years to her appearance, but her juvenility was still manifest in a small hand clutching at Aro's luxurious robes; a silent petition for protection. "There is a barrier," she continued slowly, and I was impressed that she managed to keep her tone steady, despite her evident, though still mystifying, state of alarm. "The human is afraid that we will hurt her mind and has called her shield to protect her," she declared finally, before succumbing to her repressed immaturity and burying her head in the silky black cloth that hung form Aro's hips.

"Did I… did I do something wrong?" I stammered out quickly, taking a clumsy step backwards from where Lucretia was still lying on the floor, shivering in apparent terror. "Is she going to be okay?" I asked, sending a short glance towards the little vampire at my feet before my eyes refocused on Aro and Titania. Their expressions were both completely unreadable at the moment—Titania's because her face was covered in long hair and expensive fabric, and Aro's because although his eyes were wide, it was impossible to tell whether the surprise which colored his features was a positive or negative surprise.

Judging by the pain and fear I had unwittingly inflicted on one of his precious daughters, it was probably negative.

"Is there anything I can…? Should I just…? Am I in tro—" I was frantic now. _I didn't mean it I swear! Whatever happened was not my fault, she just… randomly collapsed—it wasn't me! Oh god, what is happening? I'm going to die, at the hands of the Volturi, for something that I didn't do to one of Aro's little princesses. I'm so sorry! Please don't kill me! _

Aro held up a forbidding hand, his alabaster palm flat and facing me, with a dark tumultuous look in his eyes, which made me want to gulp. "Hush," he commanded tersely, and I froze at the unprecedented iciness in his tone. Aro was _not_ pleased with the recent turn of events, and that didn't bode well for me, the hapless mortal.

Once he was convinced that I would remain silent for the time being, Aro flitted over to Lucretia's side, leaving Titania grasping pitifully at air for her safety. When he reached her, he scooped the little girl quaking near my feet and brought her gently into his chest where cradled her compassionately in his arms. He stood with his back to me, striking a powerful black silhouette against the sienna walls.

All the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I realized, probably too late, that Aro was worse than a momma bear, and I would be lucky if killing me was all he did. At least for the moment, he was so enraptured by soothing the hopelessly distraught creature in his arms, in tones too low for me to hear, that he paid me no mind. Whatever Aro was saying to her, his lips moving to make sounds that were silent to my insufficient ears, seemed to ease her fears, and she gradually began to still. When Lucretia completely ceased rocking unhappily in her father's gentle embrace, Aro slowly helped her back on her feet.

I thought I was done for.

However I was shocked to find that as his eyes rested on my fear-frozen form that they were full of concern.

For me—the one who had apparently hurt his daughter.

I was so confused.

Aro released a regretful sigh, and wrapped a single hand into a tight fist, which shook slightly in the air near his chest, as though he was cursing himself for his lack of foresight in regards to the most recent events. "I knew that there was a possibility of this happening, with your immunity to Edward's mind reading..." His arms outstretched as if to illustrate how far-fetched he had supposed that possibility was. "...and to Carlisle's powers," he revealed suddenly.

I gasped as I realized what Aro's words meant. _I was immune to him too? _

"But I never could have envisioned that your power, in its human state, could cause such painful effects in response to such a... innocuous incursion," Aro admitted with a bewildered shake of his head. "Forcing Carlisle out with a painful jolt makes sense, because his powers can wreck havoc on the mind... but Lucretia did not mean any harm..." he trailed off, uncomfortably wringing his fingers in guilt for his miscalculation.

_I'd caused Carlisle and Lucretia physical pain? _I didn't know I could do something like that.

But even the all-knowing Aro looked somewhat surprised by it, though he seemed more astonished by the fact that I had unwittingly wounded his precious little girl—whom he believed to be too innocent for me to harm—rather than the fact that I was strangely immune to her gifts. And even if she wasn't as innocent as her father thought, it wasn't like I had meant to hurt her, either way.

_Was this was Aro had meant when he mentioned that I had "abilities" which he wanted to see "fully-realized" when I was transformed into a vampire?_ I considered, stunned by the very real possibility. _Do I have some kind of super-mind-blocking-powers that painfully eject everyone who tries to tamper with my mind? Did this "power" extend to every vampire with mental_ _abilities_, _or only to those who were trying to implant foreign memories into my mind?_ I wondered, unable to believe that silly old me could potentially possess something so powerful. _Edward never expressed any pain when he tried to read my thoughts, he just couldn't see anything. _

Aro paced back and forth unhurriedly across the beige stone floor, lost in his analytical thoughts. "I suppose..." he spoke suddenly, his tone contemplative and his thin fingers drumming lightly against his chin, "…this also means that you are invulnerable to my powers as well," he concluded as he came to an abrupt halt.

Aro stared deeply into his upturned palms, as though mulling over the many ramifications of having his tactile telepathy rendered unusable in my presence. His eyes were filled with curious awe, and for a brief moment I thought I saw an emotion akin to joyous relief flicker across them, before it was swiftly supplanted by a serious expression. "However that is a theory we will have to test later," he declared, raising a single forbidding hand to suggest that the matter was not up for debate.

"I'm sorry that I'm such a freak," I sorrowfully apologized, turning my coiling toes inward in embarrassment, and bowing my head sharply to demonstrate my profound regret.

"No, Isabella, I assure you that you are nothing of the sort," Aro placated musically. He drifted close enough to my apologetic form to offer a sincere, comforting look, but remained distant enough to be out of arm's reach. "To have a mental shield so powerful already in your mortal state is practically unheard of," he explained, his eyes practically glowing with wonder. He stretched his luxurious black-sleeved arms out to their full length at his sides, as if to demonstrate how far and wide he had scoured the earth for such a rare and valuable thing.

"When you become one of us…" he trailed off in euphoric wonder, bringing two hands to his lips in a gesture halfway between offering a prayer of thanks to whatever being brought me into existence, and restraining a squeal of fanboyish glee, "I cannot even begin to imagine how exceptionally powerful you will be. Truly it will be magnificent to behold," he rhapsodized, releasing his hands from their position over his mouth and raising them skyward in another sacral-like motion.

I was incredibly disturbed by how worshipful this ridiculously powerful vampire was of me. It seemed entirely unfounded, and thus I rationalized that it was probably a ploy of extreme flattery to contrive me into becoming another ornate figure on his chessboard. Although I was fairly well assured at this point I would be a significantly powerful piece, rather than simply a disposable pawn, the idea of being reduced to any sort of trinket for the use of another was unpalatable to my fiercely independent sensibilities. I was not a prize, or a toy, or a weapon.

I was Isabella Swan. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Or just really inconvenient," I argued casually, in a, probably futile, attempt to mitigate Aro's maniacal collector's enthusiasm. My power wasn't really all that helpful if it was preventing me from learning whatever it was that the ancient vampire insisted I must know in order to determine if I was "ready."

"Not necessarily, I do not suppose you have tried to… control your gift?" Aro enquired neutrally, despite the fact that he seemed to already know the answer was no.

"Well, um, no. I mean, I didn't even realize I had one really. I just thought it was… some kind of weird anomaly," I admitted honestly, absent-mindedly rubbing the almost completely dry sleeve of my left arm, still feeling somewhat uncomfortable with the uncanny fact that it had been broken not too long ago and was now perfectly healed.

"That is… unfortunate," Aro sighed dejectedly. Despite his inordinately high praise, it seemed that my super powers were throwing an enormous wrench in his plans, something which I was simultaneously very pleased with (as it lessened the alarming prospect of me being used), and extremely disappointed in (as it prevented me from seeing the truth for myself, and lessened my greatness in Aro's eyes). Although my uncontrollable lust for the man had quieted some, in the ensuing madness after our recent effort to share memories, I still harbored a noxious desire to be something uniquely special to him. Why I would want such a thing I couldn't rationally say—except that perhaps it meant he might develop a more than academic interest in me. And _maybe_ that interest could be expressed in the form of sizzling physical passion.

"You do not suppose you could… say, picture the barrier in your mind, and remove it from yourself for a moment?" he suggested carefully, tilting a single thin eyebrow and a palm upward in a questioning manner, and shaking me immediately out of my fleetingly sexual thoughts.

"Is that… is that even possible?" I stammered in utter surprise.

_Wait—he thinks I can overcome this? _I thought dubiously. _That somehow we can bypass my crazy defensive instincts and let his daughters probe my brain? Do I even want that? I mean… it might be the only way I can get to the bottom of all this insanity, but is it really worth it? And even if it is—which is a huge if—is it really that easy? _

"As I am sure you are aware, I have lived for a very long time," he began, his tone gentle and expositional.

Caius elicited an audible groan and theatrically rolled his darkening eyes. Clearly he was frustrated that Aro was dragging his explanation out, and thus delaying the white-haired vampire's all-important meal. Aro however, despite his eyes own increasing blackness, paid him no mind and continued placidly relating his life's tale.

"…and in all those years I have never met a person with a defensive power who was unable to divert it from themselves," Aro confessed simply, his steely gaze flickering over to several of the vampires clustered anxiously around the edges of the room, whom I assumed to be some of the carriers of defensive powers he was talking about. "It takes a great deal of concentration," he stipulated sternly, with a cautionary finger wagging distractingly in my direction, warning me off the dangerous assumption that turning off my power would be easy. "But it is certainly possible."

I nodded numbly. For some inexplicable reason I trusted Aro—at least more than I trusted Edward, or anyone else at the moment—and so I inhaled slowly, letting the curative oxygen seep all the way down in the deep recesses of my lungs. Next I rolled away the accumulated tension in my stiff shoulders, and gave my best attempt to calm down. As the increased air inflow flooded my body with immediate relief, I concentrated on what I imagined as my mental barrier, picturing a red, glowing veil completely encapsulating my brain, and focused on pushing it gradually outwards.

It was strange to try to move something that wasn't physically a part of me, and I wasn't sure it would even work.

However my efforts were suddenly rewarded as I felt something miniscule shift inside me, like a security blanket had been lifted away from me in the middle of a horrendous blizzard and I was now completely exposed. Terrified by the unexpected sensation, I lost focus, and the barrier snapped right back into place, pulsing angrily and stronger than ever before, refusing to budge at my gentle nudging. It seemed that my shield, or whatever it was called, did not respond well to being relocated outside of my mind.

I decided to let it sit for a minute, rather than continueing to incessantly prod it.

But I absolutely refused to give up.

After a quick breather, I chewed on my lower lip and struggled to wrestle my internal protection away from me again. It was extremely scary to be without it, but I fought back the fearful thundering of my heart with reassuring mantras—_it'll be okay Bella, It'll be okay, you're just trying to open your mind. Nothing really scary. You'll be fine. Everything is going to be _just_ fine… _I didn't really believe it—not one bit—but I found myself relaxing substantially, and my stubborn barrier once again began to depart from its equally stubborn possessor. The frightening sensation of being entirely vulnerable washed over me once again, but instead of losing my concentration, I willed myself to feel content with it—to wholeheartedly accept it, as though the clotheless-in-public feeling that the loss of my mental barrier generated was an average everyday occurrence.

And yet, in my extreme determination, I managed to find a modicum of tranquility in that disturbing feeling, because I knew that this was the only way. It was plainly evident now that if I wanted to know the truth, I needed to overcome my greatest fear.

I needed to be at ease with the one thing that perturbed me above all else—the invasion of my mind.


	8. Chapter 7: Ancient Sewer Raid

**AN: mid-way through there is a perspective shift, of sorts. I hope that I can successfully convey whose thoughts are whose, with all the crazy thought-ception going on here (thoughts within thoughts) and not confuse too many people. There will be several "I"s and "me"s, which, if I think its ambiguous, or its switching around, I'll identify who the "I" is by saying "I, Bella," or something similar. **

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Ancient Sewer Raid**

I wasn't precisely sure how long I had been practicing removing my mental barrier when Caius suddenly rose from his chair, for the third time since his initial settling upon it. His long cape pooled darkly around his ankles, and his indomitable figure hardened into a powerful upright stance.

"Aro! Enough of this!" he bellowed furiously. "Surely you can see that dinner cannot wait much longer!" he shrieked. His teeth snapped angrily as he pointed two paper-white fingers forcefully in the direction of his own rapidly darkening eyes. "If you continue this agonizing conversation any longer, I will be given no choice but to consume her myself!" he threatened finally. He started to saunter predatorily across the stone floor in my direction, black fabric rippling dangerously behind him, and his angelic countenance warped with demonic rage.

I gasped in terror, forgetting entirely about staving off my internal shield, and nearly tripped over myself in a vain attempt to distance myself from his impending approach. Caius' expression was positively demented as he stalked closer—seething with uncontrollable thirst. His tongue darted out to enthusiastically lick his teeth, which were glistening with large drops of venom, and his hands drew upwards, flexing spasmodically in anticipation of the kill. And as each of his impossibly long strides brought him nearer, I felt like I was going to faint from sheer horror.

There was a flicker of black across my vision. For a second I believed that it was the first signs of losing consciousness. Until I realized that it had been Aro flitting in front of my eyes at lightning-speed, throwing himself bodily between myself and Caius. Aro shoved a single palm unforgivingly against his brother's broad chest, the contact making a sound like heavy boulders crashing into one another. Then he pushed back with inhuman strength, forcing the ravenous, snowy-haired vampire to immediately halt in his tracks.

"You. Will. Do. No. Such. Thing," Aro bit out with clenched teeth. A deep, rumbling growl bubbled out of his throat, clearly asserting his dominance over the other vampire. His other hand, the one not pressed into Caius was raised threateningly, showing that it was Aro's right to dismember Caius if he persisted in his foolhardy attempt to satisfy his appetite.

"Patience my brother," Aro commanded, his tone acidic and his ruby eyes glittering with displeasure. "She is nearly ready for me to show her the truth, and once she knows, _then_ we shall dine."

Caius made no indication that heard, or cared for Aro's statement. Instead his wide maroon eyes followed my every twitch and shiver with rapt intensity. While Caius had surveyed me as potential food earlier—before Aro's introduction of his daughters—he had then been rather easily persuaded to return to his throne. Judging by the fierce expression he now wore, I sincerely doubted he would be swayed so peacefully this time.

Aro also appeared to recognize that Caius was beyond reasoning with, and the black-haired vampire's muscles contracted in preparation for initiating battle. I was about to duck my head in my hands, fearing the worst, when Aro abruptly relaxed. A look a humored contentment crossed his features, as though he had suddenly thought of something terribly amusing—perhaps a hilarious alternative to fighting.

"Marcus, restrain him," Aro demanded without warning.

Marcus looked utterly surprised at being so unexpectedly addressed, let alone being asked to do something so entirely outside of his habitual skill set. He blinked in total incomprehension. His confused face seemed to say: _You're not serious are you? You're asking what? Restrain Caius? Me?_ His pale mouth slid open partially, as though struggling to articulate a protest.

Before any sound could make it out of Marcus' bewildered lips, a short, black-haired woman clad in a silky off-the-shoulder gown stepped forward from the crowd lingering against the bright sienna walls. She opened her mouth to speak—perhaps to offer her assistance instead—but Caius cut them both off.

"That will not be necessary," he snorted derisively with his face scrunching in extreme distaste. Clearly he was offended by Aro's insinuation that someone as lackadaisical as Marcus would actually be capable of performing the task. "I will lure one of the stragglers into another room and consume them silently," he declared finally, taking a step back from Aro's hand. He then began strolling purposefully in the opposite direction, moving swiftly across the stones with the deadly grace of a tiger towards the door through which Edward, Alice and I had entered this room. "I cannot wait upon your whims any longer."

Aro lowered his hand and sighed. "Are there any others who cannot contain their thirst who wish to follow Caius?" he asked the room congenially. He spread his arms wide and twirled in a gradual circle to face every vampire in the vicinity, to clarify that everyone who shared Caius' feelings was perfectly free to follow in his suit without fear of punishment.

A few hooded figures exchanged glances surreptitiously, before they summarily broke from the crowd. They filed quickly out of the slim entry door in a short line trailing behind Caius. However the majority of the vampires in the room remained firmly in place, even as the wooden door was shut with a wrathful _slam_. Despite the prolonged delay of their scheduled meal, most of the vampires decided to forgo the option of obtaining their food immediately, probably in order to appear more loyal to Aro.

I felt slightly guilty for the commotion—as it was my presence here which had prevented all of these hungry vampires from eating earlier. But I cringed as I remembered that "dinner" wasn't fish and chips. Instead it was a crowd of innocent tourists circling around the fortress at this very moment, oblivious to the cruel fate which awaited them. Caius, and presumably the other vampires who had followed him, had left to lure away "stragglers" from the group and… _"consume them silently"._ The way he had spoken about these unfortunate human beings was so jarringly different than Aro's humble insistence that he had the "utmost appreciation for their sacrifice." It shook me.

It finally dawned on me that human beings were going to be brutally murdered in this very building, while I was still in it. I felt dirty just by being here—_how many had died in these very halls, having been led into these unreachable depths by false pretenses? How many were at last horrifically devoured, writhing in fiery agony from the venom burning in their blood? How many human screams had echoed off these walls, desperate for an escape they would never obtain? How many drops of warm crimson blood had splashed across these floors, from countless throats being savagely torn into with sharp, gleaming teeth? _Although I wasn't the best at mental math, I knew that even if the Volturi only fed biannually (which was extremely unlikely) the number of humans slaughtered here over the several millennia of their existence would be in the hundreds of thousands, and if they ate as frequently as Edward did—roughly once every two weeks—the body count would be in the millions.

I fought hard to choke down the bile rising in my throat.

My face must have looked as sickeningly green as I felt, because Aro's next words were sorrowful and sympathetic. "I understand that you feel a kinship with those Caius seeks, as a fellow human," he empathized. He clasped his hands together near his heart with a deeply remorseful look shining in his dark red eyes.

"I cannot apologize for what is about to happen. It is simply a part of our nature," he amended quickly. He felt no remorse for the horrific deaths about to occur, though there was a deep understanding look in his eyes, as though he fully comprehended the magnitude of suffering he was causing and accepted it completely for what it was. "The only consolation I can offer is that I will never allow you to become like them—that is, as long as I still exist, I will not allow you to become food," he offered smoothly. His tone was laced with possessive protectiveness as he extended his hand in what I supposed was meant to be a reassuring gesture.

Instead, I was disgusted. The fact that I wasn't going to be eaten today, while certainly something I was extremely grateful for, was ultimately beside the point. The principle, that the Volturi believed they had the right to determine the intrinsic worth of some human beings to be greater than others, was what upset me. No one had that right.

"Their fate is already decided," Aro continued gravely. He gave a slight shrug, as though the tourists' ultimate demise was already out of his hands, despite the fact that, for the moment they were all still breathing. Well, unless Caius had already got to them. "It was decided from the moment they met Heidi, the bait who lured them here."

_She must have been the woman with mahogany hair I saw leading the tour group,_ I observed.

"They will serve to sustain us." He spoke this sentence as a statement of incontestable fact, like one would say "the sun is a star" or "the human body is 70% water". He said it with such finality, like there was nothing which stood on earth or in heaven which could prevent the hapless tourists from becoming the evening meal—like it was already history.

I chewed on my lip, distressed by the knowledge that there really wasn't anything I could do about it either. Having seein Caius' reaction to being delayed access to much needed sustenance, I had no doubts that if I attempted to interfere any more than I already had, I would quickly become the replacement food. No matter what Aro might try to do to protect me. Although I was fairly certain that he was perfectly capable of slaughtering several of the vampires who were foolish enough to charge at me first, even his supernatural strength and ancient wisdom didn't stand a chance against a room full of thirty-plus enraged vampires converging on him.

I didn't like it—not in the slightest. But I would have to live with keeping quiet in this situation, as I didn't want to cause even more deaths by possibly starting a war between Aro and the rest of his ravenous guard. Nobody should have to die because of me—human or vampire.

"But do not despair, dearest Isabella," Aro placated, his silky voice rolling musically over the syllables with effortless grace. "For you will rise above them and join us," he finished, raising a single hand upwards to signify my impending ascent into immortality. His eyes followed the marble-white fingers as they rose and passed into a shaft of sunlight. There, his prismatic skin glittered in a dazzling display.

His burgundy eyes suddenly snapped back down on me, eagerly awaiting my response, though his hand was still held dramatically aloft.

"I'll never be like that," I insisted, balling my small hands tightly into impotent fists. I unconsciously placed my legs apart in a powerful stance. "I won't… I won't kill humans."

Aro smiled knowingly at my bold declaration, but said nothing. I hated that he seemed convinced that I would totally abandon everything I believed in and become a heartless murderer virtually overnight. But what distressed me even more, is that he acted as though the crucial information his daughters would share with me would be the source of this radical paradigm shift. I sincerely doubted that there was anything I could experience which could lead me to justify callous termination of innocent human life. But Aro's confidence in the persuasive power of the memories he wanted to share with me was unnerving to say the least.

After a strained moment, Aro dropped his hand back into the shade and rapidly turned to his darling little soprano. "Lucretia, are you willing to try again?" he sang in an adoring, gently pleading tone. He inclined his head down to look her sincerely in the eyes, and stooped slightly so as to appear somewhat less imposing. "Dearest Isabella truly did not intend for any harm to befall you, and she has learned to subdue her shield." Aro placing a single comforting hand on his "daughter's" tiny shoulder and even bent further to place a single knee on the ground.

It was startling to see the leader of the Volturi in such a humble pose—the vulnerability he was willing to display around his daughters was truly astounding. But it was likely that all the other vampires in the room were equally enamored with the little girls and would never hurt them to usurp power from Aro. I wouldn't be surprised—immortality, coupled with their adorable youth was a potent combination. I wholeheartedly believed that even the most ruthless of vampires would have difficulty harming them.

Lucretia swayed her chubby clasped hands nervously, and refused to look into Aro's eyes. Her little head was pointed towards her shuffling feet, which shifted her weight back and forth anxiously, causing the many layers of her dress to swish and billow like a miniature dust devil was rustling around her. She clearly had been shaken up by being rejected by my mental barrier, and was not thrilled with the prospect of possibly facing that again.

"I'm still not confident…" I protested. I was certain that if I were to mess up again—which was very likely, given the overload of ambient tension in the room—that the pain I would inadvertently cause his daughter would not be so easily forgiven this time.

Aro abruptly interrupted me. It wasn't immediately apparent why, because I could only see the back of his head. His eyes never left his hesitant little girl. "She _will_ keep her barrier away as you show her what she needs to see," he promised firmly, giving her ruffled shoulder an affectionate squeeze. He then rose slowly to his feet, assuming his full, daunting height and sent an ice-cold glare in my direction, which seemed to indicate that I had no choice in this matter.

I swallowed—okay, no pressure…

Lucretia gradually lifted her head, and her round ruby eyes danced uncertainly between Aro and me for a few seconds. She took in my wildly uncertain expression, and Aro's serene gaze of paternal confidence, my nervous fingers running through my drying brown hair, and Aro's placidly clasped hands. She seemed to be deliberating her options.

At last, Lucretia completely ceased her anxious fidgeting. I watched, amazed, as she gave a single, firm nod in the direction of Aro. She spoke adamantly, with a slight outward puff of her chest. "I'll do it."

I was impressed with her bravery, and her devotion—it seemed she would do practically anything for Aro, no matter how potentially masochistic.

I swallowed thickly. I didn't want to mess up again, but I also didn't particularly trust my abilities. I'd only had a few minutes at best to practice them. I was dying to know the truth—preferably as soon as possible—and yet, simultaneously I wished that our imminent memory-sharing could be postponed until I was more confident in controlling my "gift." I had absolutely no desire to inflict any harm on either of the adorable twin vampires, not to mention face the terrifying wrath of their father.

Aro, sensing my distress, spoke soothingly. "Focus, my Isabella, and the truth will be yours.

_Focus, and the truth will be mine_, I repeated to myself. _The truth _will_ be mine._ That's what I wanted right?

I tenaciously held onto his reassurance, and took an elongated deep breath in an attempt to relax. Casually, I rolled away the tension in my shoulders and knees from standing ramrod still for so long and steeled myself for what was about to happen. While I struggled to relax, Aro's identical daughters moved to grasp hands. Titania gently lowered her tiny hand into her "father's" and gripped it fiercely—a white-knuckled supplication for defense against the effects of my untrained powers.

Inhaling again, I prepared to push my mental barrier away. As I focused, the red veil lifted up from its clinched hold on my mind with surprising ease. A terrifying, probing sensation washed over me and I worked to sustain level breathing, and to feel at peace, despite it. I shut my eyes in calm concentration and delicately pressed the red veil in my mind's eye out even further, so that it was drifting lazily several feet away from the twins, Aro and I. Just to be absolutely certain that there will be no unforeseen complications, I cautiously pressed against the swirling veil in its new location, testing its firmness in remaining at its temporary residence outside of my brain.

I was pleasantly surprised when I felt the barrier push back unyieldingly, rather stable despite its detachment from me. Without opening my eyes, I gave a slow nod—a silent signal that I was ready to attempt our mind-sharing chain once again.

Now I could finally discover everything that I was never intended to be told.

I felt a tiny hand slide across my sweaty palm, grasping it hesitantly. I kept tabs on my detached barrier, making sure that it remained totally stationary as she touched me. Then, suddenly a familiar electrical surge passed through the mental chain. It originated from Aro's daunting figure, then passed through young, trepidation-filled Titania, through the twin's firmly linked hands, into confident Lucretia, and finally through our interlocked hands into me.

There was a rushing feeling, like being thrust violently into a high-velocity wind tunnel. I watched in disbelieving fascination as the sienna walls and stone floors melted away from my vision and were replaced with the dark shapes and putrid smells of an ancient sewer system. For a horrifying moment I supposed I had been transported back into the sewers through which Edward, Alice and I had traversed to reach the heart of the Volturi fortress...

...until I looked down and realized that the pale, masculine hands which moved in response to my thoughts were not my own. They looked human, despite the fact that I couldn't be certain given their pallor and the complete lack of sunlight in this dingy catacomb, so I didn't recognize them at first.

It wasn't until I caught my cloudy reflection in the pools of disgusting polluted water that I realized what was going on. Reflected in the dingy water was a tall frame, old-fashioned trousers , a frilly white shirt, short blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.

I was in Carlisle's body—no… I was in his memories.

...

The sensation of being in a completely different body was certainly alien, but not as horribly uncomfortable as I would have assumed it would be. It was predictably disorienting to have thicker, more muscular legs and larger, rougher hands, but as I was experiencing his memories, and not simply spiritually displaced into his body, they moved unencumbered with natural ease.

My hair was shorter, and thus no longer whipped around me, caressing my collarbones and shoulder-blades as I moved. But as I came to understand where I was, and where I was headed in this horridly dank tunnel, I was extremely grateful that there was no long hair to obstruct my visibility. I was also taller, so my vantage point was higher than I was accustomed to. My eyesight was also surprisingly sharp despite the darkness which engulfed me. But otherwise, I felt no substantial difference.

No, although it was certainly a little bizarre to consider that I, a woman, was now effectively housed in a biologically male body, and that it was _Carlisle's_ of all people, the strangest thing about experiencing Carlisle's memories was not the physical aspect. Far more uneasiness was generated by the fact that I wasn't reacting to my immediate surrounding me the way that I normally would. Instead, every thought, every motivation, every rationalization, and every decision which surfaced from my brain reflected a pattern of thinking that was distinctly Carlisle's.

I felt the harsh sting of his troubled conscience as he struggled with difficult ethical dilemmas. I felt his unwavering faith in his religious beliefs despite all opposition. And I felt his profound determination to abide by his morals, no matter the impracticality or personal inconvenience.

I experienced the deep analytical processes which occurred in his mind, too. He surveyed everything his sharp senses presented carefully and meticulously, in order to be absolutely certain that the next step forward was the right one. And I also felt his emotions—the deep, unconditional love for everyone around me, irrespective of the fact that many were spiteful, or lecherous, or crass, or hypocrites, or liars, or cheaters, or thieves…

…or even murderers.

I was woefully upset by their choices, so much so that it was very nearly physically painful, but it surprised me, Bella, that I, Carlisle, could summon no wrath to hate them. The most condescending I could manage was pity.

I had assumed, with such an intense personal intolerance for what I regarded as sin that I would be overflowing with contempt for any individual who possessed the slightest of character flaws. But, while I had certainly seen others (both in my own memories and in Carlisle's) who appeared to feel this way, I was surprised by the unfathomable sorrow which blossomed in my heart instead.

I sorrowed deeply for their misconceptions that they could obtain happiness through devilish means—which was, at best a sadomasochistic fantasy, and at worst, a ploy to corrupt the pure and innocent. And inwardly, I wept over the horrid consequences they would suffer, both in this life, and in the next. Furthermore, I was stricken with grief for the torment of their souls, that is, for the miserable agony their consciences must endure on a daily basis in response to their terrible deeds. I mourned over the fact that they had to live with themselves as monsters, somehow and felt empathetically sick.

Because it was simply unfathomable to me, Carlisle, that someone could want to exist like that.

As Bella, I understood that not everyone's conscience was as hyperactive as Carlisle's. While mine was hardly weak, it was nothing compared to his, and a weaker conscience was one of the ways that others coped with committing hideous crimes.

But as Carlisle, I wholeheartedly believed that when others committed crimes, they felt the same heart-stinging that I did—the same guilt and unbearable pain of the spirit, though enlarged an hundred-fold because of the greater magnitude of their crimes. I believed that they must simply relentlessly drown it out with a distracting and intoxicating concoction of sadism and hedonism. But the guilt would always be there, lurking under the façade of animalistic pleasure. I was unable to imagine that the same unwavering sense of right and wrong was not a trait shared by all humanity—for I had possessed it for as long as I could remember.

And while these were hardly unexpected feelings, having known that a strong conscience was an integral part of Carlisle's personality since I first got to know him, it was much more shocking to be fully immersed in these things for myself. Now every deed of Carlisle's of which I had knowledge of made absolute perfect sense. It stunned me, Bella, that I could now say, after all of about two seconds in his body, that I understood Carlisle's motivations perfectly. It even more baffling that I was receiving this effect somewhat secondhand, as my experiences as Carlisle had been obtained through Aro's gift and were being transferred to me through his daughters.

But what else should I have expected from Aro's abilities? Thoughts weren't simply words which echo in someone's mind which mind-readers can "hear" as though they were spoken words. Or distant, third party perspective images which mind-readers can "see" as though it was a movie playing before their eyes. Every sensory input could be counted as a thought—and that meant that what I was now experiencing wasn't just outside observation of events, but full-submersion into another being.

Which meant that, for the moment, I was no longer me.

Although deep in the recesses of my mind, which was left behind in the Volturi fortress, I retained my memories, and my motor-capabilities, I had virtually no access to either because right now, I wasn't Isabella Swan.

I was Carlisle Cullen.

I was trudging through the gloomy chambers of an ancient sewer in the heart of 17th century London.

And I was about to do something extremely reckless.

I stood in the middle of the cramped, nearly lightless tunnel, dank with centuries of pungent rot and decay. Several men flanked me on either side, the torchlight from the wooden rods in our hands flickering off the cobbled stone walls. Flashes of silver knives gleaming in the thick, smoky darkness, raised in our hands to ward off any approaching foes.

The shadowy forms of men surrounding me and I moved slowly, as silently as possible across the uneven stonework. We moved through the confusing labyrinth of interconnected passageways slowly, and tried to avoid the murky puddles of polluted water—not wanting to make even the slightest of unnecessary sounds, lest our enemy, with their bestially keen hearing, be alerted to our approach too soon.

As we marched forward, I regarded the faces of the ten men I had chosen to accompany me on this dangerous mission. Half of them were stricken with paralyzing fear, and the other half utterly stoic, betraying nothing of their true, less-than-courageous feelings, and this fact caused me to suffuse with unease.

Some of the men I had known since childhood and they were righteous and just individuals who I easily trusted with my life. Others had simply been persuaded to come along by the prospect of attaining monetary gain from my father—the man who was supposed to be leading this raid, but was indisposed because of his increasing age. But only those motivated by earthly rewards, and those with whom I had no friendly relationship, showed the stalwart courage that I was desperately looking for. My dear friends and the other good men who had accompanied me without respect towards attaining some small measure of my father's ecclesiastical wealth, were terrified out of their wits. They looked agitated, anxious and clutched their daggers and torches in aggressive positions with white-knuckled grips as we progressed further through the sewer's disgusting channels.

The man on my right, sported a long, tangled and matted crop of hair and an equally scraggly beard. He was clad in filthy rags which smelt vaguely of urine, and was one of those inspired by greed. He'd also been promised absolution of his prior crimes, rather than justice, which unsettled me. Nonetheless, his confident posture in spite of the daunting enemy we were approaching, and his quick skill with a knife, born from a life of violence and treachery, would prove invaluable in the moments to come.

It pained me that I would be collaborating with wicked men like him—dishonest, thieving, woman-abusing, man-maiming and even occasionally murderous men—since it seemed to completely defy the whole purpose of this raid: to rid the world of monsters. Nevertheless I was no fool, and understood that if nothing else, the invaluable skills they had attained through their unsavory lifestyles gave us a much higher fighting chance against these diabolically strong beings of the night.

As my black-booted feet slipped quietly over the broken pavers, I wondered for a moment if the creatures we were hunting tonight retained any infinitesimal fraction of their past human selves. But almost as immediately as the thought surfaced in my mind, I dismissed it.

Those who killed as frequently and unrepentantly as these creatures did must be, as my father insisted, soulless monsters. Especially since they did so without the vindications of self-defense or defense of home and country to justify their cause, or even the fallen, mortal motivations of malice or revenge.

I decided, that no matter what loving memories or vital knowledge of their past lives they retained, the presence of a truly human heart within them was wholly impossible. Because if they were in possession of such a thing, they would be utterly unable to bear the gruesome violence their natures necessitated if they did.

No one, whose heart still trembled at the force of human emotion, could live with themselves like that.

At least, I couldn't.

I was absolutely certain that if some circumstances entirely outside of my control compelled me to commit sins that I believed to be as grievous as theirs, that I would destroy myself in utter despair—and I doubted I was alone in that line of thought.

In the end it was pointless to speculate. The deadly creatures living in these sewers were taking human life callously, and I had been sent by my father, with a party of able-bodied men of my own selection, to deliver justice. I was elated in this instance that I, with my keen observation skills, had discovered the clandestine location of an actual vampire coven. Now I could finally destroy the wretched evil plaguing our great city, rather than the pale, recluse innocents my father often brutally executed by mistake.

But I was also terrified—no, I was far beyond that…

It mortified me, that in the coming moments I would have to be ruthless—unforgiving and violent—which was utterly contrary to my gentle, merciful nature. Just thinking about the violent actions I would have to perform made my stomach churn uncomfortably with guilty nausea.

But I would have set aside my scruples for now. Certainly I could bring myself to kill these inhuman abominations—who were damned by their demonic nature to the lowest hell—couldn't I? Simply because they had human faces did not mean they had human hearts.

These beasts needed to be taken off the face of the earth to protect the innocent men, women and children that would otherwise fall prey to them in the future. They need to be exterminated to protect innocent people like Agatha, the kind elderly woman living in a small derelict cottage who had been found bloodless last month. Or like Cherise, the angelic little six year girl who had ran away from her abusive, drunkard of a father and met the same fate on her way to her aunt's house only yesterday. Or like the countless other innocents whose lives had been meaninglessly snuffed out in the wake of this demonic incursion.

I was doing this for _them. _

My fellow human beings who had lost their lives deserved nothing less.

Suddenly, one of the men on my left stumbled over a lose stone in the floor, obscured from his vision by the thick, cavernous darkness. He was flung forward, and landed with a loud, squirting splash in a filthy puddle and released an echoing yelp of pain as his outstretched arms and knees collided painfully with the pavement. The men beside him rushed, careful not to fall into the same folly, to silence him as quickly as possible—but it was already too late.

As the men hovered over him, their faces lit in eerie patterns by the hot flames they carried with them, I saw a short, curious figure suddenly appear at the very edge of our torches' range. Looking loser, I saw that it was a young brown-haired boy, appearing no older than three or four years of age, dressed in tattered, bloodstained rags. He eyed us suspiciously, with his head tilted unnervingly to the side, before he began slowly walking towards us with an impassive expression.

"Run!" I yelled, whirling rapidly to face the men who were helping up the man who had tripped. My voice was brimming with urgency and desperation, and my heart beat erratically in my chest as the opportunities to escape the impending danger swiftly slipped away from them. The man who had tripped was my childhood friend, William Veldon, and my heart constricted at the idea of him being harmed.

The men paused in their task, their thick arms still securely wrapped around my friend, and looked at me in stupefied confusion. They then glanced nervously at the young child gradually approaching them, who wore an innocently inquisitive expression, and burst into hearty guffaws of laughter.

Their humorous reaction caused me to petrify on the spot as I realized, in horror, that they hadn't seen what I had, in the barest glint of light, and foolishly supposed that this was only a hopelessly lost, but otherwise ordinary child. In mere fractions of a second, as my shaky torchlight had cautiously passed over the young boy's flawless features, I had perceived not only the child's exceptional pallor, but also his unnatural crimson eyes—the only foolproof indicators of vampirism.

I quickly parted my lips to warn everyone in the tunnel of the reality of life-threatening danger a second time. But I was stunned speechless when William steadily lighted to his feet, and bent to lay his silver knife uselessly against the clammy ground, in a gesture of extremely naïve peace-offering. He had no idea what danger he was in, and directed a small, friendly wave toward the small, though still very lethal creature.

There was no time to intervene, not even by those standing amidst the horrifying scene, and not even time to scream. The small child immediately shot up into the air, wrapped his tiny little arms fiercely around William's neck, and savagely twisted his little head to tear at my friend's throat.

William howled in excruciating agony as the demonic child viciously sunk his teeth in further, and I bellowed out a severely traumatized "No!" as I watched. I was paralyzed with fear, as my best friend of nearly twenty years was drained dry before my very eyes, unable, in my lethargic mortal state, to do anything whatsoever to prevent his grisly demise. Before the others had fully comprehended what was transpiring, the child suddenly released William, and allowed his limp body to sag to the to the floor. As my friend's head rolled eerily to face us, I noticed in horror that his skin was white as a sheet and eyes were frozen wide-open in incomprehensible fright.

Impassively, the child floated back to the ground, a few droplets of blood sliding viscously over his alabaster lips, and he released a heavy, satisfied sigh, like his gruesome dinner had been particularly delicious. Then he turned his head gradually towards the other humans in the room. Once again he inclined his head to that awkward angle, as though surveying them as a possible second course.

Finally shocked into understanding the gravity of our situation, the men who had been surrounding William froze. Their spines went ramrod straight, and their hands clenched tightly around their assorted weapons, for a few moments...

...before they abruptly scattered in chaotic terror.

Shrieking crude curses and blasphemous phrases, all but one spun swiftly on their heels. They then desperately tore down the gloomy sewer passageways back the way we had come in an attempt to abandon me with the tiny vampire and William's bloodless body. However, they didn't get very far before more figures, all adults, judging by their imposing height, swept unexpectedly into the putrid corridor from all directions. They stood menacingly in a haphazard circle around us, per ting our escape.

The figures who surrounded us were all vampires—a fact made obvious by their unnaturally quick movements. They were all dressed in filthy, tattered rags, and looked at us with disturbingly wide smiles, glistening with venom. Their strong, wiry arms appeared poised to fight and their wild eyes, glowing orange in the torchlight, raked over us hungrily.

It was agonizingly clear that they weren't going to let us leave.

Before we could process what had transpired enough to begin an attack, two more figures floated into the corridor, who were much better dressed than the rest of the coven. One was male, judging by the broad shoulders which were clearly evident in his pristine button-up shirt, and his unmistakably masculine square jaw. And the other was obviously female, as she wore an extremely low-cut dress of deep red satin, which presented a generous view of her large bosom. They both had long dark brown hair, the same shade as the child's and were both painfully beautiful, and I, Bella, was suddenly extremely grateful that Carlisle was a total saint, because I wasn't sure I could handle him/me mentally appraising a female figure right now—my sexuality while in his body was in enough question as it was.

Instead of being distracted by the sizable mounds of marble-flesh threatening to burst from the female's intentionally tantalizing ensemble, I focused on much more practical matters—like keeping myself alive. Though the possibility looked slim, since my companions and I were out-numbered by creatures who possessed strength which far surpassed our own.

The man beside me tensed, gritting his yellowing teeth, and wrapped his hands tightly around the long torch and short knife in his hands as creatures approached. The vampires glided with effortless grace over the pitted and lumpy cobblestone beneath them, and wore condescending, though not yet malevolent expressions on their faces.

I held my breath as the male came to an abrupt halt near William's lifeless corpse, and cast an unreadable look towards the diminutive vampire who stood beside it. The child's chin was still dripping from his last terrifying meal. Wordlessly, the older male produced a ratty, extremely stained handkerchief and wiped away the disturbing mess in a jarringly considerate gesture. After swiftly re-pocketing the repulsive scrap of fabric, the male turned to us.

His scrutinizing, crimson eyes flickered briefly over my fear-frozen form, noticing that my right hand was tightly clutching a small silver knife at the level of my eyes. I was determined not to strike unless me or my companion were directly threatened, but I would defend myself if necessary. His gaze then turned to my left hand shakily grasping the shrinking stub of a torch which was my only light source in this rotten, hellish place. He looked much more afraid of the torch than the knife, but seemed to assess that none of us were immediate threats.

He suddenly spoke "Looks like the Cullens are at it again," he intoned contemptuously, jabbing a pale, accusing finger in my direction. He then strode forward, the cloister of vampires surrounding us parting easily around him to allow him passage into the center of the tunnel where I stood. I rapidly switched my eyes from vampire to vampire, in order to assess what was the most immediate threat. "Although this time they actually caught the _real_ culprits. Fancy that."

The vampires all broke out in a chorus of bell-like laughter at his cruel, but unfortunately very true statement, and I immediately tensed, furrowing my brows in irritation. I wrapped my damp, salty fingers tighter around the short silver dagger I carried and tried to school my temper. My father's efforts, although ultimately tragic, had been carried out with good intentions, and I wouldn't stand for them to be so derisively mocked—especially not by the creatures my father had tried tirelessly to destroy.

"I think you'll find, that we are, somewhat more… difficult to subdue than the weak humans your father slaughters," the vampire spoke dryly. His voice was laced with dark humor, and a condescending smirk twisting his lips, as he drew even closer. "Though it will certainly be amusing to watch you try," he confessed, as he gently swept his hand underneath my chin. The ice-cold temperature of his fingers burned against my feverish skin as he gently tilted my head up to meet his.

"I see that you brought a little toy," the vampire remarked amusedly.

I was confused as to what he was referring to until he snatched the instrument of which he spoke out of my hands—my precious silver knife—and twirled it idly in the air for a few moments. The metal produced a soft whirring sound as it sliced through the damp air.

"Let me show you, what these are capable of," the vampire said unexpectedly. He then abruptly drew back the knife with reserved strength, presumably with the maximum amount of strength a human could obtain, before plunging it downwards into the ivory white skin of his exposed forearm.

I watched in horror as the small knife pressed a slight indentation into his inhumanly pale skin, before literally bouncing off. It sailed a few feet in the air, and clattered with a high, chime-like jingle on the damp, odorous floor.

The vampire cracked an enormous toothy grin at the sudden unrestrainable fear which arose in me, and the men surrounding me as we realized that our party had never stood a chance against these monstrous beings. Their skin was totally impenetrable, like the hardest of diamonds, but sturdier, lacking even diamond's weakness of being very brittle.

Once again, the entire coven of vampires erupted into shrill, merciless laughter. Laughter at our naivety in assuming that we possessed weapons sufficient to harm them. Their heads sailed backwards as their amusement continued, and some forms even shook, trembling violently from the insurmountable hilarity of it all.

All my companions took a nervous step towards the center of the circle, attempting to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the sneering monsters. Despite the fact that we now knew them to be virtually useless, the men around me continued to clutch their silver knives tenaciously, and swept their torches out in front of them to hopefully discourage any immortals from drawing too much closer. Large drops of sweat beaded on our hands and foreheads, slickening our grasp on our paltry defenses.

Knowing it was absurdly foolish to be the first to attack, we waited in stunned silence for their next move.

"No response?" the lead male vampire enquired incredulously, a single dark brown eyebrow quirking reactively to his disbelieving question. "I suppose it matters not," he suddenly conceded. He gave a rapid shake of his head, before his crimson eyes lifted towards the crumbling, rotting ceiling. He stretched his muscular arms forth at his sides, gesturing wildly to the crowd of impatient vampires encompassing us, before exclaiming jubilantly: "Dinner is served!"

And as if on cue, all the vampires descended upon us in a mad frenzy.


	9. Chapter 8: Vegetarian

**AN: This is one of my favorite chapters so far. Newborn!Carlisle is so much fun to write. Of course Human!Carlisle was really fun to write too. He's such a fascinating character-a true saint at heart, and always trying to do the right thing, but often royally screwing up. Poor Guy. **

**Also, heads up, Carlisle is a religious man, so there will be a little talk of damnation and some concepts like that in this, and future chapters. My intention is not to encourage or discourage any religious beliefs, I'm simply trying to stay true to my perception of the characters in every facet I can. **

* * *

**Chapter Eight: "Vegetarian"**

Suddenly, all I knew was pain—extreme pain.

It was hot, merciless and excruciating and raged relentlessly in every cell of my body.

_Was I on fire? _I thought incredulously. _I can't remember what happened._

Wearily, I blinked a few times—flashes of blackness jarringly interrupted by lighter, unrecognizable shapes flickered before my foggy vision. I gritted my teeth in pain as I tried to sift through my jumbled, hazy memories in order to ascertain why on earth I was hurting so much. But in my heavily pain-intoxicated state I could only recall tremendously vague, blurry impressions of what had happened.

A few fizzling images of blood, roaring flames, inky black coats and gleaming silver knives flickered before my eyes. I remembered a flash of white and the sensation of searing agony which had followed, but I couldn't immediately pinpoint what had caused it and how I had ended up here—wherever here was. Logically, I knew that at some point during the recent, shadowy violence I had lost consciousness. But at the moment it was unclear exactly how much time had transpired since then. And it was equally undiscernible whether or not the dark forces that had put me here were still a threat.

I certainly hoped not.

Though I knew absolutely nothing in regards to why I was experiencing this intolerable agony, I was now convinced, after enduring it for a time, that my entire body must be engulfed in flames. I could think of nothing else which could produce this level of exquisite torture.

I gasped involuntarily at the pain which was piercing. It sunk through all the clammy layers of my skin, easily passing through my thick muscles and I wriggled in violent discomfort as it needled down deep into my very bones. It was also impossibly hot, which caused every surface of my delicate skin to slicken with thick sweat. And there was no reprieve from it. The fiery sensation pervaded my whole being—surging through every membrane, every tendon and every fiber with a blazing intensity.

I hissed sharply, violently arched my back, and cried out as the fire under my skin suddenly blazed hotter, reaching a particularly fearsome temperature on my neck. After a few seconds it subsided slightly for a brief fraction of a second, before it burned like the infernal fires of Hell again.

It was difficult to understand what I was feeling, but the pain seemed to come in waves—curiously corresponding to the erratic pounding of my heart. This fact allowed me to focus on its origins when the fire reached its coolest points, before the temperature rushed higher again. It felt like my neck was burning the hottest with a stabbing, searing pain that seemed to emanate from somewhere just beneath the top layer of skin. The heat radiated outward from the epicenter along the path of my veins. A similar, though marginally less intense fire blazed ferociously on my left forearm, and left upper arm, my right collarbone, my left cheek, and my right calf. But these were nearly distinguishable from the rest of the hot sizzling pain I felt spreading into my extremities. On my right shoulder there was also a small fire burning, though bizarrely the pain was duller, and not as deep into my skin. Like it was barely scratching the surface, rather than burning all the way through to my bones.

_That's strange_. I thought as I studied, through feeling alone, the origin points of my torment. _Does fire usually burn in odd patches like that and spread out _inside_ my skin, rather than over it? _

Although it was originally a compelling theory, I was beginning to doubt that my current ailment was literal fire. Many of the places which hurt the most were at odd angles on my body, such as smothered against whatever cool, hard surface I lied against, or completely crushed beneath the oppressive weight of unidentified objects which rested on top of me. And although I claimed no expertise in matters of fire, I had kept enough of them burning in the fireplace of my own home to be aware that fires required constant access to open air in order to burn properly—access which certain portions of my body did not afford.

To add further credence to my emerging theory, none of my body parts had been consumed by any physical flames. Though I couldn't see them, I could still feel all my nerve endings which were vivacious with pain. And was certain that had I been lying in an actual pyre, I would have lost few fingers and toes, at the very least.

Curious about what I was experiencing instead I decided to try to observe my surroundings for clues. Although my heavy eyelids were also subsumed in the spreading fiery pain, I was able to lift them slowly. I blinked a few times to hopefully adjust my eyes to the suffocating darkness, and banish the thick fog which greeted them.

When my eyes finally began to focus, after several seconds of rapid eyelid fluttering, initially I was not certain what I was looking at. I saw a disturbing, tangled mass of light and dark shapes, which, but I had absolutely no conception of what they were. They did look extremely familiar, but I was perplexed. At least until I shifted my body slightly in discomfort, feeling the oppressive weight of their copious mass, and one of the lighter shapes gently grazed the raw skin of my cheek. Five stiff, cold cylindrical shapes caressing my hot, damp flesh.

I wanted to scream in terror—a dead human hand was touching my face.

Pure dread washed over me like a disastrous riptide as I realized that the familiar looking light and dark shapes were human bodies. They were pale and bloodless where their cool, unyielding skin was exposed, and black where the torn remnants of their filthy clothing still covered them.

I was buried at the bottom of a pile of mutilated corpses.

And it was painfully clear, both from the way my body burned with a vengeance, and my unfortunate location in this morbid prison, that I was not supposed to be alive.

Thoroughly disgusted by my current predicament, I raised my sore, aching arms above my head and frantically scrambled to push away the grisly barriers between me and whatever heavenly escape or devilish trap might lurk beyond. As I pushed with all my might against the heavy horde, I was horrified to discover that as soon as I hefted the limp weight of one lifeless form away, another immediately fell in to take its place. For a split second, I believed my confinement to be endless—that I was buried in a bottomless pit of bodies. As escape evaded me, I began to consider the possibility that the horrific violence which had occurred in the dark sewers had killed me, and this was Hell. I couldn't recall anything that I had done in my tragically short life which I believed should warrant such severe, eternal punishment. But my efforts to climb out of this morbid pit seemed fruitless so with much distress I began to accept the idea.

I was just about to give up on my tiresome struggling and simply spiral into despair, when I finally pushed away the last body, and a stream of pale moonlight found its way into my vision. Profound relief settled over me as I realized that I was still on earth, and not suffering eternal torment for some unknown crime.

I took the opportunity to survey my surroundings, still wincing and hissing as the jabbing, fiery pain continued to blaze through my body.

I was lying in the middle of an empty, cobbled street, still partially submerged in the bodies—a few of whom I was terribly distressed to discover were those of my friends. Their faces were permanently distorted in fear, frozen with gaping, howling mouths, and eyes so wide they appeared to have no eyelids at all. Amid the faces was an atrocious mess of carnage and appendages. Not all the proper limbs were connected to their accompanying torsos, and some bodies were twisted into horribly unnatural positions which put the circus contortionists to shame.

If there there had been anything in my stomach, I was certain I would have been sick.

I forced myself to look away.

The scene was horrifying, in part because it was so brazen. It had once been very unlike the vampires in the city sewers to be so open about their crimes. They had preferred the solace of secrecy for hundreds of years, and maintained the pretense that those who disappeared as a result of their regular feeding simply ran away. However, over time, their efforts to disguise their presence here in London and their crimes got sloppy. The vampires began leaving the occasional bloodless body where it could be discovered and sparse crimson trails back to their lair… And after several months of this kind of behavior, they had destroyed all doubt in the minds of the townspeople that vampires were real.

But to leave the remains of their "dinner" in an appalling mound in the middle of the main street was, in my mind, utterly excessive and somewhat stupid. While we were most certainly weak in small numbers, if enough human beings were to rally together against the vampires, we might be able to combine our strengths of scientific knowledge and ruthlessness to invent something capable of destroying the foul beasts.

And although in this moment I would have preferred their extinction to eventually come to pass, I had supposed they would be cunning enough to circumvent it—not witless enough to nearly instigate it.

At this time, however, I had no conception that there were even other vampires who would agree with my assessment. And that this careless incident, when it became known, would later incur the wrath of the world's governing vampire coven—for these were things I had no idea even existed. Instead, I was mostly concerned about the conclusions some of my neighbors might come to if they were to see me, the only living thing amongst all these corpses. My chest constricted at the idea that they might think I was the vampire who had done this. But thankfully the street remained utterly silent and unoccupied, meaning that no one was around to see me or the gruesome display I was submerged in.

As my eye flickered anxiously around the grimy square, just to make sure I was absolutely alone I noticed a derelict bakery sign post which was planted next to the pile, the corner glittering in the starlight. I shuddered as I saw that tall, cramped letters had been written in a dark red substance over the original lettering. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the "paint" used to vandalize the sign was human blood.

Especially since these were the words written: THANKS FOR THE MEAL, FATHER CULLEN.

The letters were still dripping, letting me know it was fresh. But although it was horrifying to look at, the sight of blood triggered my memory and I finally hazily began to piece together some of the important details of the bloody chaos which had occurred in the sewers.

The memories were terrifying to revisit.

I flinched in horror and revulsion as I recalled the blood-curdling screams of my comrades ringing painfully in my ears as they were brutally slaughtered, and remembered the sickening sensation of my skin getting sliced and ripped at. I wanted nothing more than just to forget them altogether. It was too emotionally traumatizing to recall that it was my fault that ten men, some honorable and some much less so had been killed. I didn't want to remember that I had caused their deaths by my foolishness.

But the memories did help me understand the origin of my pain. The fiery sensation resulted from the injuries I had received from the vampires I had foolishly attempted to slay. Why being mauled within an inch of my life by demonically powerful beings would induce this particular feeling of being burned alive, I did not know.

But I was determined to find out.

Slowly, and methodically I extricated myself completely from the ghastly pile. I ignored the lolling heads and flopping limbs of my deceased comrades as I diverted them away from atop my legs and torso. And when I was free, I crawled away across the damp cobbles to the side of the road, so that I could examine my injuries.

I sat myself in the cold dirt a few feet from the edge of the road.

There was no moon in the sky, and the starlight was dim, obscured in many places by chimney smoke, but I was surprised to find that, my vision operated extremely well. I could see with miraculous clarity the individual torn fibers in my tattered shirt and pants, and view the infinitesimal shifts in hue despite the darkness. My leather boots had not been spared either, I discovered, but like the rest of me, were riddled in crescent-shaped holes. Surrounding each of these holes on my person was a circle of blood which had dried thick and crusty, all over my skin and clothes.

Disgusted, I tore away the blood-smeared remnants of my shirt-sleeves, and the haggard bottoms of my trousers. And I gasped at the sheer number of deep, bizarre injuries which covered my eerily pale body. Half-moon-shaped incisions which appeared to have been made with a very sharp instrument riddled every few inches of my exposed skin. The wounds were cavernous enough to reach bone in some places, but barely shallow scrapes in others. Most curiously of all, every curved cut was ridged slightly as though whatever had torn through my flesh was not a perfect half-circle, but rather a lot of small objects which approximated that shape.

Vastly disturbed by what I saw, my hands anxiously checked above my shoulders—as there were no mirrors available. As my fingers roved, I felt that a sizable gouge had been taken out of the side of my neck, as though an egg-sized chunk of skin and muscle had simply been scooped away. No wonder my neck hurt so badly.

Though there was plenty of dried blood covering my body, nothing was bleeding at the moment—which might have been a comfort in any other situation, but it was not in this one. The deep lacerations in conjunction with this fact only served to further my unease. Even the familiar, reassuring signs of coagulation in my injuries were absent—the wounds were simply grooves, holes, as though all my blood had been sucked away, or pulled deep inside me away from the top layers of skin.

I was utterly befuddled, until I hurriedly rubbed away the cracking layer of dry blood on my forearm to survey the wounds in greater detail. As all thirty or so of the perplexing ridges in the crescent injuries came into sharp focus, I suddenly realized what I was looking at.

Bite marks.

At some point the chaotic struggle which I had doltishly provoked in the sewers, I had been bitten by vampires—repeatedly.

And that was reason my wounds weren't bleeding, because if there was one correct thing which my father had taught me about vampires, if was that their bites did strange, unnatural things to the human body. Most who were bitten died almost immediately after, from the frenzy of feeding which ensued, but the few that were unfortunate enough to survive the traumatic experience of vampires' steel-hard teeth tearing open their skin were forever altered, changed past the point of redemption.

In other words, humans who lived through being bitten by vampires became vampires themselves.

I swallowed thickly, and my burning hands shook in inescapable terror as the reality of what had occurred to me slowly began to sink in.

I had become the very thing that I had set out to destroy.

There was no time to ponder this, or start despairing over my loss of salvation, however, as I heard footsteps echoing loudly in the distance, and I panicked. I understood all-too-well that if my father were to find me in this state, he and his friends, (all seasoned vampire hunters), would immediately set out to destroy me. And even though he and his comrades were growing old and only had human strength in their arsenal, while I was in such exquisite agony, there would be nothing I could do to stop their onslaught. Not to mention that right now I likely lacked some of vampires' uncanny impenetrability, because my transformation was not yet complete.

With my survival instincts still in full-force, and realizing that I had very little time to lose, my eyes rapidly switched urgently back and forth over the urban landscape. I was hoping beyond hope that there was something to hide behind, or within to conceal me from the approaching person. The pain was making it difficult to think and my heart still hammering frenetically in my chest wasn't helping. But only thing in sight which could possibly serve as a hiding place was the rusty entrance to an abandoned potato cellar.

It certainly wasn't my first choice, but it would have to do.

As the footsteps coming this way pounded louder and louder, I hurried to my feet, swaying where I stood and hobbled over to the cellar. I lifted the rusted door, and with one last glance towards the empty street, dropped into the dingy darkness within.

The fall wasn't too far, and I soon found myself sprawled across a bumpy sea of rotting crops. There I lied to hide from my unwitting pursuer and confused to lay there even after the threat passed, waiting in anguish for the three days of my conversion to be over.

…

When the fiery pain had finally ebbed completely away, and my human heart no longer beat, I was initially relieved, until the excruciating sensation was replaced with another equally intense, though more contained, burning feeling. Instead of my entire body having the impression of having been cast prematurely into the crematorium, it seemed the agony was confined to my throat. Also, the sensation was more dry than hot, as though I had been stranded on a desert isle for days without water and thus was unbearably thirsty.

Immediately I opened my eyes rose to my feet as quickly as I could, with the intention of searching out something to soothe the throat-splitting dryness away. But the inhumanly rapid movement kicked up an enormous whirlwind of heavy black dust which momentarily obscured my vision, and thus delayed my search for a few moments. As the dust settled once again, all the tiny dark flecks settling on the cool cement floor, I immediately recalled a very important fact: I was no longer human.

Which would mean that what I was currently thirsting for was not water.

No, as a vampire, I must be thirsting for human blood.

I, Carlisle, and I, Bella as well, had never assumed that the thirst vampires felt would be so potent. It was very similar to the fiery pain which had enveloped me earlier, and yet in some ways profoundly worse. For while the blazing sensation of transformation had been utterly insufferable, it was also paralyzing, and induced a strong desire to simply lay down and wait it out. The thirst which overtook my being now was different. It didn't instill a feeling of passive acceptance, but rather was calling me to action—to use my newfound strength, speed and especially my glistening, diamond-hard teeth, to discover and devour the nearest carrier of our preferred sustenance.

Vivid, startling images of myself sinking said teeth deep into the necks of unsuspecting humans and gorging myself on their warm, red blood arrested my mind, and I was profoundly disturbed by how remorseless my suddenly brutal imagination was. Thick, clear fluid pooled on my tongue and began to trickle down my chin at the gory pictures my mind created. Briefly, I considered darting out of this dismal abandoned cellar and latching onto the nearest human to obtain my body's fervent desire.

But then my conscience suddenly, surprisingly asserted itself.

Despite my recent transformation—despite the fact that I was now supposed to be a soulless vampire—I was shocked to discover that I was utterly repulsed by the notion of murdering innocent human beings. The sharp sting in my heart when I my mind considered doing something wrong as a human surfaced with perhaps even more force than before, as though it too had been enhanced alongside my increased sensory capabilities.

As the thirst continued to torturously ravage my throat, I struggled fiercely to seat myself against the dirty floor to force myself to consider my options before I acted purely on instinct and did something I would most definitely regret. It upset me that the fire in my esophagus so adversely affected my capacity for rational thought, but I had to give it a try, at the very least.

In the haze of my frenzied mind, I could only ascertain two options: I could either give in to my devilish desires to murderer innocents for their blood. Or I could attempt to destroy myself before I succumbed to the nigh irresistible temptation, while I still possessed what I supposed was a faltering afterimage of a soul.

While the dryness seized me, the first option obviously seemed the most satisfying. I tried to convince myself that murder would hardly matter in the eternal scheme of things anyway, as I was already damned by nature. But something in me refused to simply abandon my entire outlook on cosmically determined right and wrong. And I was simultaneously elated and devastated to discover that I still possessed no desire to disappoint my God.

In the end, that decided it for me—I may be damned, but it was still horribly inconsistent with my character to simply abandon all that I had lived for up to this point.

No, I would remain true to my convictions. And as part of that valiance I would make absolutely sure that I was only one who had to suffer as a result of my vampirism. No one else deserved to have their lives ruined because of me.

Having made up my mind, I waited until nightfall, when the streets were utterly empty once again. I then swiftly, but silently cracked open the rusty potato-cellar doors, and slipped out stealthily into the chilled cobbled road, careful to remain entirely sheathed in the tall black shadows cast by the surrounding buildings.

I decided to hold my breath to prevent myself from inhaling any tempting scents which might unexpectedly cross my path. I was both utterly surprised and unimaginably relieved that I no longer was required to breathe, and thus could hold my breath as long as I desired, without having to worry about gasping for air. That way there was no threat of me dashing madly after some appetizing smell.

Nevertheless, it was not safe for me, or for any of the hapless townspeople, to remain here in the heart of a bustling city. For either I would be promptly discovered and an execution would be attempted by my father and his fellows. Or unforeseen circumstances might cause me to accidentally inhale, which would make everything I had worked for crumble in a matter of milliseconds.

And I had no desire for that.

So as soon as I could veritably determine that there were no unfortunate souls choosing to wander the night standing in my way, I bolted with lightning speed in a straight line out of the city. I ran towards the nearest wilderness—where I would be sufficiently distant from all temptation—and began devising a way to rid the earth of my abominable existence.

…

I realized, after carrying out every cruel method I could envision to terminate my own life, that my cursed invulnerability made this far more easily said than done. I had attempted death by falling off cliffs, impaling myself with sharp objects, hanging myself, drowning, trying to die by ripping myself to pieces with my inhuman strength and several other methods. But nothing thus far had worked.

I had been living (if that's what my current state could be called) in the forest for nearly three weeks and was both physically and mentally exhausted by my futile efforts to cease earthly existence. These weeks had not been entirely without progress however, as I noticed that my strength decreased slightly with every day that I denied myself human blood.

I found reprieve in the idea that perhaps I could starve myself to death, which, while torturous, was preferable to my next idea of erecting and casting myself into my own funeral pyre. I was beginning to run out of ideas. And I began to suppose that if I did not have the courage to destroy myself through some explosive method (which is what I now understood was the only way die all at once) this was the only option left.

With this object in mind, I had selected a cave, in the middle of the forest, and had taken up residence there. It was cold, dismal, and utterly vacant of all life, as far as I could determine, and thus would be the perfect place for me to lie down and die. But as the weeks laboriously wore on, and passed into months, this proved more difficult that I thought. Humans died within mere days without water, and could similarly only live a few weeks without food. But four months had passed since I had awoken from my transformation (a fact which I could ascertain by the sudden shift in weather) and I was still alive.

I was barely clinging to my sanity, though, and my throat was constantly enflamed with a thirst which defied all description.

As Carlisle, I believed that the thirst was a sign that the heavens were mocking me in my attempts to do the right thing, and was but a cruel echo of the hellish fate which awaited me when I succeeded in my morbid goals. But as Bella, I was simply dumbfounded—_how on earth is he/am I resisting this? The neck-scorching pain. The vivid and enticing images of what would relieve it... I know it's wrong but... I would have given in. I couldn't fight this like he can. I can't bear this... _

My admission of weakness in this crucial regard startled me. And I realized that Edward hadn't been exaggerating when he had warned that the thirst could drive even the most kind-hearted of people to become rabid, remorseless killers.

I knew I would never have to face it this bad, because I would feed on animals as the rest of the Cullens did, and relieve the pain before it ever rose anywhere near this level—so I still wanted to be a vampire. But the terrifying reality that my transformation could very well turn me into a unrepentant slaughterer, momentarily shook my profound determination.

My musings were cut short, however, as the powerful sensations, and the blonde vampire's intense motivations distanced me from my mind in present-day Volterra, and I became re-immersed in the events of Carlisle's memories.

The cave I, Carlisle had chosen to enact my starvation was far too dark for human eyes to see anything at all. But in the dim puddles of water in the cave, with my superior vampiric vision, I could see from my reflection that my once crimson eyes had turned a vacant, ravenous black. I also noticed that thick, dark purple circles now surrounded them like raccoon's eyes and my skin had turned a sickly shade of yellowish-green. It was bizarre to me that my body did not shrink and wither away, muscles evaporating and skin pulling freakishly taught against thin bones as humans did when they starved. But nonetheless I was unbearably weak, and spent most of the days simply lying on the cold stone floor, staring up at the stalactites descending from the cave ceiling.

It was in one of my less lucid moments of doing this very thing that my keen nose caught the scent—the scent of something edible. I immediately jumped to my feet, my muddied, scratched and splitting leather boots alarmingly steady against the damp, jagged cave floor. And I was unable to stop myself from darting off savagely into the distance after the somewhat pleasant smell.

As I left the cave, I internally screamed at myself to stop, horrified by the prospect that I would give up everything I had been working for now, in this moment of abandon. But my monstrous body absolutely refused to listen, it was as though it had suddenly gained a mind of its own.

My heart lurched as my vision was assaulted by the dazzling eight-color rainbows the sunlight was throwing off my skin. And something like tears, but gooier started to fill my eyes, blurring away the once ridiculously crisp edges of every leaf and twig as I flew down the rocky hill just outside my cave.

Fortunately, as I broke through the lush green foliage into the wide clearing beyond, what my wildly searching eyes fell upon in the grassy valley below was a herd of deer, not human beings. The strange liquid building in my eyes vanished.

Intrigued by the vaguely appetizing scent emanating from these docile creatures, I made a split-second decision to perform a desperate experiment. I wanted to see if the blood of these unsuspecting herbivores might do anything to mitigate my unbearable hunger. So I tore across the grassy expanse separating us as quickly as my horribly weakened body could manage. The sights around me remained crystal clear, even as I dashed at unbelievable speeds, but in my rapt, ravenous focus, they were entirely unimportant. Again, I felt the same strange clear fluid saturating my mouth like it had in the cellar, in anticipation of a meal. And as my feet carried me swiftly over the summer-scorched blades of grass, I also felt something else: An adrenaline-like bliss—the heady satisfaction of being a predator.

Once I was close enough to be spotted by my intended prey, I sprang into the air, sailing exhilaratingly just above the treetops, before I plummeted just as rapidly to the earth. I landed on the soft, furry back of the nearest deer on my way down, which bucked and collapsed under my weight.

As our forms collided harshly in the dewy grass, I seized the deer in a mercilessly crushing grip around the middle with both arms. The creature was clearly startled by my unexpected arrival, but it barely had any time to react before I had flipped it onto it's back. I pinned it with my bare hands to the ground easily—my strength somewhat increased by the alluring prospect of nourishment—and my teeth eagerly tore through the soft skin on the deer's neck.

Hot, tangy blood spilled into my mouth, and at first I was pleased with this development, until it splashed over my tongue, and I had to fight the urge to gag. It tasted like some ungodly combination of week-old-bathwater, tree sap and dirt. Despite the chokingly horrible taste, my diamond-hard fingers burrowed deeper into the deer's fur, and I forced myself to swallow. I continued to drink, even though it was nasty, because I hoped to restore some of my lost strength with the revolting fluid.

When no more blood issued forth in response to my feral slurping, I hesitantly dislodged my teeth from the beast's neck. Several thick streams of viscous blood clung to my lips and chin as I pulled away, and I paused for a few seconds in fascination as I felt the murky liquid trickling through my digestive system. I was somewhat startled as I felt the hot substance pour from my stomach into my unbeating heart, as my limited knowledge of human anatomy seemed to suggest that was not an organ typically involved in the digestive process. But my mounting concern was quickly displaced when unexpectedly my stagnant heart suddenly pulsed, sending the accumulated animal blood in every direction through my typically empty veins.

The sensation of a single heartbeat vibrating in my chest was eerily unfamiliar, having lived without it for quite some time now. But as my heart stilled again and my recent meal surged with incredible force through my arteries and capillaries into every immortalized cell, I forgot the strangeness of all of this entirely for a few moments as the fluid was slowly restoring my strength. I was mesmerized by the energizing feeling. It felt extremely good to absorb all that warm liquid and I nearly gasped as I felt something else, something primal and wonderful bubbling beneath my skin as the remaining blood settled.

But to my chagrin, the sensation abruptly fizzled out before it could even get started.

_That was rather bizarre_, I pondered, bewildered by my new body's inexplicable reaction to the foul deer blood I had just consumed. _I feel like something was about to happen in my system_—_some sort of pleasure response, perhaps? _I mused, recalling the budding feelings of delight that had followed my feeding before they had been unpredictably snuffed out. _But it was cut short... like the stimuli was insufficient. _

It was then that I realized, disappointedly, that my hypothesis about why whatever had been about to happen to me had stopped was, at least to some extent, correct. My strength had been mildly restored by the repugnant liquid I had stolen from the innocent creature lying breathless beneath me. But incessant burning in my throat had not let up in the slightest.

I was still just as famished as before.

The "stimuli", (in this case the deer's blood) did not provide enough nourishment to warrant whatever bodily reaction a fully-satisfying meal would produce. Because the issue of my hunger had not yet been adequately resolved.

Recalling the presence of the rest of the large herd scattered in the clearing, I decided to drain several other deer as well. I hoped that the additional sustenance would serve to eradicate the merciless fire ravaging my neck, and prove sufficient enough to complete whatever mysterious response had risen in my being before. I was careful to choose stragglers on the outskirts of the herd, and subdue them far enough away so as to not alert the rest of them of their imminent demise.

Still, even after I had consumed so much that I was certain that if I drank any more of the distasteful fluid that I would surely vomit, it was obvious that the nutrients they provided were not enough. Though it had ben soothed somewhat by my voracious efforts, the sandpapery dryness in my mouth vexingly persisted.

I sank my head into my pale hands in despair.

It was now painfully clear, from the dull throbbing in my throat, that deer were not my kind's intended food source. I did feel marginally better, but it seemed as though I had only restored a small fraction of the strength I had initially possessed when I had first transformed. I supposed that I probably now carried a greater strength than any typical human being, but I was definitely not the exceptionally powerful being I once was. Perhaps then, deer blood could serve as a stop-gap, to sustain vampires who had no other choice. But my heart plummeted in my chest as I concluded that, barring the intervention of some other powers, I could not fully satisfy my thirst this way in the long run.

I wished more than anything, as I had sprinted down into this valley, brimming with the excitement of the hunt, that drinking animal blood would be a viable substitute—that when I drank it, I would no longer thirst at all. Because then, perhaps I could live with some measure of comfort, and not have to terminate my own life. I was growing tired of attempting suicide, and was scrambling for a way, any way to justify my continued tenure here on planet Earth.

To be able to have my thirst satisfied by animals, and not by humans would be ample justification to stay alive. I had no qualms about killing deer or any other wilderness creature for food. However, I had quickly discovered that my hope for full satisfaction from these gentle beasts was a foolish fantasy

I had learned something else valuable today as well—I realized now, that starvation would prove impossible. For once I grew hungry enough, I would completely lose my rational capabilities to resist the call of my murderous nature and eventually that would drive me to devour an animal. Doing so would only damper the thirst and not absolve it entirely, but the restored strength it provided would almost certainly delay my demise. Thus, if I attempted to starve myself again, I would instead be caught in a perpetual cycle of starving and consuming animals, and I would never be content or free from this wretched existence.

With my head still buried in my hands, I mulled over what my next course of action should be for several days. I refused to move from my seat in the grass, amid the seven bloodless animal bodies strewn carelessly throughout the clearing—even as all sorts of scavengers arrived to pick at the remains of my frenzied meal. The dazzling sunlight threw bright flecks of rainbow light off my prismatic skin in every direction, but I hardly noticed. I was too busy reviewing the allotment of fates I could choose from in light of this knowledge.

There was always the option of abandoning this saintly venture. The option of seeking the one forbidden fluid which I knew with a disturbing certainty would grant me the complete release from thirst that I desired. But despite the lengthy passage of time since my transformation, what I had originally presumed to be a fleeting "afterimage" of a soul, was distressingly very much intact. And since obtaining this form of substance required that I murder human beings, my unyielding scruples ultimately prevented me from taking this highly desirable route.

Which only left me with two other options: either I would have to resume my attempts to end my tenure here on earth. Or I would have to accept that the blood of beasts would sustain my life but be forced to live in a state of constant, grating annoyance because it could not fully satisfy my thirst.

I knew that hope was dangerous, for it could be just as misleading as it was disappointing. But as I sat amid this grisly scene of death, I considered something else as well—the possibility that perhaps I was not invariably damned.

My father had explained that vampires were damned because their nature drove them to slaughter humans, which was a grievous sin. _But if one such as myself were to deny this murderous nature, would I not be unable to be held under the same condemnation? _I reasoned. _Would it not be unjust to punish me for simply thirsting after humans, but never killing any? If I could find an acceptable replacement... could I perhaps even unashamedly enjoy the obvious perks that immortality afforded? Could my soul even be redeemable? _It was so exhilarating to logically determine that the salvation I so deeply desired may not be entirely out of my reach, if I could continue to exist in total abstinence from human blood.

But there was one big problem—what on earth would I use as a substitute? _If only the blood of beasts could free me from this pain._ I, Carlisle thought dejectedly._ If alleviation was the sensation I felt instead of continued frustration, I could be free. If I could forget my torment after I consumed animals, if the pain simply disappeared as though it never was, I could live happily. _

Obviously, if my earlier experience was any indication, that was not going to happen. But just as I was about to succumb to despair, I was suddenly hit with another revitalizing epiphany: _There are more animals in the forest than just deer_, my mind contributed helpfully. _Perhaps they are the key to forgetting your pain. _

Enlivened by the hope of regaining a chance at heaven, I immediately rose to my feet, and decided that I would taste every beast in the forest, with the intention of discovering which, if any, could possibly be the secret to evading a hellish fate. Evidently, deer were most pointedly a "no", so I abandoned the clean-picked bones of fallen herbivores. But I refused to give up in my quest to find another way until I had personally imbibed everything this wide wilderness had to offer.

Something incomprehensibly strange happened with my next attempt however.

Although the blood of bears proved to be just as unpalatable as that of the deer, the thirst seemed to evaporate almost immediately after I drained the ferocious beast. It wasn't a perfect victory: The same budding feelings of delight were once again cut short as if this beast's blood too, was somehow insufficient, and my throat still tingled somewhat from time to time. But it was entirely bearable.

Even the slight tingling seemed to disappear over time. It was as though as soon as my thirst slipped from the present into the past, it disappeared entirely.

I was overjoyed by my apparent success, and also intrigued—what other creatures might produce this same effect? I wondered. And were there any other vampires in this wide world who had discovered that some animals were effective human-blood replacements?

After two weeks had passed since my second unorthodox vampire meal, my thirst grew slightly, increasing from its infrequent tingle to a constant hot scratchy sensation. I hurried to repeat my recent experiment—this time choosing a different species to test for sustainability. And pleasantly, I was surprised as their disgusting blood also quelled my thirst in the exact same manner.

I rejoiced in this incomprehensibly great news by sprinting incredible distances over the vast grassy hills and leaping up to unbelievable heights, tripping lightly over the sharp rocky cliffs. I noticed, in the fleeting reflections I caught of myself in the rivers and lakes I encountered as I celebrated that my once ruby-red, then obsidian black eyes were now a pale golden color.

Intrigued, I halted my ecstatic merriment for a moment and slowly bent over a particularly clean and still-watered lake, to examine them with greater clarity. But as I stared intently at my crystalline reflection they offered no answers for their sudden change in hue. I understood that black eyes indicated thirst, and that the red eyes most vampires possessed therefore must indicated that thirst had been quenched, but I had no understanding as to why my eyes were such a peculiar color.

The most logical conclusion was that this bizarre pigmentation was a symptom of my recent, unusual diet. But I couldn't shake the feeling that the honey color wasn't simply a superficial indicator that I refused to consume human beings. It must mean something about the way my body was reacting to the distasteful substances I had been consuming. _Was it a bad sign—like the yellow jaundice of dying humans—or was it a good sign, that I was "golden" in the eyes of God?_

After a few moments of pondering, I shrugged my shoulders—it didn't particularly matter what color my eyes were, only that I was able to continue existing without violating my scruples against human murder. So I went happily on my way.

Determined to be thorough, when my two weeks were again expired, I tried a different animal and was further elated to discover with each trial that every new beast I sank my teeth into offered the same blissful absence of pain that the others had. This diet was not without its downsides, however. Animal blood was extremely difficult to swallow no matter what creature it came from because of its repulsive taste. The taste varied—sometimes it tasted like thick, liquid tree bark, or crushed gravel, or sticky, wet leaves—but it never tasted remotely like it should and during every meal I struggled not to gag as I forced it down my throat.

There was also the fact that the profound feelings of pleasure which arose after each feeding always died before they were ever fully realized. But I did not let these relatively insignificant facts discourage me. Sacrificing pleasant tastes and feelings for a life free of the cavernous guilt of taking human life was a concession I was happy to make.

There was a time, for some difficult weeks were I worried that alleviation I now felt from dining on beasts was a temporary state, and I would inevitably relapse into the weakness and intolerably burning thirst of before. But that concern rapidly disappeared after many months came and went and such a disastrous thing never occurred, no matter which beasts I consumed.

After nearly a year on this strange diet, I began to be curious as to what separated deer from the rest of the animal kingdom. What made it so that when I drank their blood my thirst remained nearly wholly unsatisfied, when every other animal I had tasted satisfied my thirst _almost_ perfectly?

I returned to the field where I had my first, unsatisfying experience with the blood of beasts, and began to search for the elusive animal. When, after many hours of searching, my keen nose finally honed in on their characteristic scent, I bolted. I paid no mind to the branches and shrubs which smacked against my impenetrable skin, nor to the gently falling snow which whirled mesmerizingly in front of my superior vision, as I tore directly through the heart of the forest.

When the object of my desire suddenly entered my vision: a young, tawny brown doe who had only just lost her spots, I lunged. Over a year of practice made the motion even more graceful, and once I had wrestled the beast to the ground, I tore wildly into its throat with my iron-strong teeth.

Once I finished gulping down the putrid tasting blood, I staggered backwards in disbelief from the beast's corpse and sat cross-legged amid the tall grass blades in utter confusion. Some of the foul-tasting liquid was still pouring from my pale lips as I fell to the ground. I was unable to understand it—this time it was different than before.

Instead of the clawing thirst being dulled but still remaining in my throat, the blood of this beast had miraculously quelled it, producing the exact same effect as the other wildlife I had eaten over the course of this last year and a half. I wracked my brain for why this might be so, and came to the conclusion that perhaps my body simply needed time to acclimate to the atypical nourishment—and perhaps the disheartening adjustment period was the reason no other vampire I had ever heard of subsisted on animal blood. But that theory didn't seem entirely right either.

Half-heartedly, I searched for other possibilities for the next few days, though I eventually came to accept this explanation, and no longer allowed it to trouble my mind.

As Carlisle, I was content with this development.

But as Bella I was disturbed by the inconsistency—why would deer blood work now, when it hadn't worked before?

I was also disturbed by how mislead I had been about living on animal blood in general. When Edward had said animal blood tasted like tofu, he had been uncharacteristically generous. From Carlisle's memories it seemed that the blood, though one could certainly choke it down, was the most unpalatable thing I had the misfortune of tasting. Also, when Edward had said that it "keeps us strong, but we're never fully satisfied" I had no idea how true that statement was. Carlisle's throat endured a tingling sensation from time to time, even after he had recently fed, and there were tiny moments when I had felt as though something more painful was bleeding through—like there was some kind of barrier which blocked out the vast majority of the pain, that was not entirely impermeable.

It was strange because none of this felt natural at all.

There was something off, something _wrong_ about the not-quite-total satisfaction that Carlisle felt—both now, after his second meal of deer, and throughout this whole year of beast-drinking.

And I, Bella, wasn't about to simply dismiss that impression. I'd learned since my recent discoveries with Edward that my intuition was usually right when it came to identifying when something fishy was up. And although the idea of being able to live on animals rather than humans was such an amazing and relieving concept that Carlisle was unwilling to seriously entertain the prospect of anything sinister going on, I was fully prepared to search out the darker possibilities.

As I mulled it over for a while, I got a sneaking suspicion that Carlisle was still famished even now, just as he was after his first vampiric meal—that somehow, the more complete alleviation of his thirst from then on was all an elaborate fabrication. It was a wacky idea, but it was the only explanation which would account for all the variables. Nothing else would make sense of his his initial failure, his current "success", the and occasional tickling in this neck which seemed symptomatic of an underlying, unresolved problem.

I considered momentarily that perhaps someone else had bewitched him into this state of false contentment—Aro had said something earlier about "spells". But I soon dismissed it, for there was no one to perform such a task. Carlisle was in the middle of the forest, alone, for crying out loud!

The only option left, then, was that somehow he had learned a way to cope with the persistent dryness in his mouth on his own. That Carlisle had found a way to create the illusion of painlessness himself in order to forget his continuing thirst as though it had never existed.

_Wait a minute—that sounds familiar. _I thought, wracking my brain for when I had heard of something similar. After a few moments I suddenly remembered Carlisle's thoughts after his first unsuccessful meal: "If I could forget my torment after I consumed animals. If the pain simply disappeared as though it never was, I could live happily." _Was that what was going on here? He had some how made himself forget?_ I asked myself, incredulously. But_ how would he manage something like that? It wasn't like he could alter memories or anything… _

_Oh wait… yes he can._

_Holy crap—did that mean that Carlisle was using his gift on himself?_

_Because if he was... it was completely unconscious, and so utterly convincing, that even he himself wasn't aware of it. _

_Oh my God..._


	10. Chapter 9: Aro's Experiment

**AN: Now we're starting to understand Carlisle a little better. Crazy huh? This next chapter should solidify the last one's big reveal a bit more, so if any of you are confused, I hope this clears things up. Also, several of you mentioned the other Cullens and the Denalis-how they manage the thirst will be mentioned later, but first there are some important things to take care of first. **

**More memories on the way! Though this time from a different perspective... I love writing the minds of different characters. I hope I'm capturing them well enough-I try not to be to OOC, but I'm no Stephanie, so forgive me for any inconsistencies. :)**

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Aro's Experiment**

_I must have overlooked something—there has got to be another explanation for the inconsistencies I feel in Carlisle's memories. _I thought desperately. I frantically scrambled for a sensible alternative explanation in hopes of restoring my naïve, crumbling paradigm about Carlisle's management of his vampire-thirst. _Maybe he's right, maybe it just takes some getting used to, and the occasional "off-ness" and fleeting moments of tingling pain that seem to slip through something is just his own personal unease about being a vampire. Maybe I'm reading too much into this… _I tried to reassure myself unsuccessfully.

_No, my theory still makes more sense_, I hesitantly admitted to myself. _When he was leaping around in joy I felt like he was exerting himself—exertion shouldn't happen to a well-fed vampire, at least… I don't think it should. They're not supposed to get tired. But maybe…_

As I continued desperately battling with myself over the possibilities, suddenly I felt something icy twitch infinitesimally against my palm, back in the "throne room" in the Volterra castle. It was Titania's tiny hand, taking in my recent thoughts before transferring them to her "father". And suddenly Aro solemnly voiced his own thoughts on the matter, breaking the unsettling silence which hung thick in the stale underground air.

_"_Yes, dearest Isabella, I have also arrived at the same conclusion_," _I heard Aro say, somehow managing to sound profoundly sorrowful and yet firm in his assertions. _"_Through my observations of this, and many other events, I have deduced that this is the only possible explanation. However, if there are still any doubts, I hope that these next few experiences will alleviate them entirely."

_Wait, next few experiences? I'm going to see _more _memories? _I thought disbelievingly. I struggled to articulate the words on my foreign tongue as my consciousness lingered in Carlisle's distant memories.

_"_Oh yes, my lovely Isabella," Aro responded before my question could even be voiced. His words caressed my skin with a soft, feathery lullaby, and I imagined his his face was graced with a gentle, congenial smile. "There is far more I must show you."

I was completely stunned by his reply—_can he use his gift of mind-reading through his daughters? Are all of my life's memories exposed to him now?_ I suddenly panicked. I was absolutely terrified by the idea that my innermost thoughts and lascivious desires for him were now bare before his inquisitive eyes, and I felt my distant mental barrier slowly slipping from my tenacious hold, threatening to rush back into place at full force, and knock Lucretia and Titania both back against the unforgiving floor again in the harsh shockwave of its return.

_"_Calm yourself, my dear_,"_ Aro soothed warningly, and I was surprised as his gently chiding reminder immediately gave me the necessary boost to regain my indomitable grip on my shield and propel it even further across the room—I didn't want to disappoint him. "Do not worry, I am not reading all your thoughts_," _he clarified quietly, and I exhaled in extreme relief at the confirmation that my all-important privacy was not in any additional, unforeseen jeopardy. "Titania can only see what is passing through your head at the moment,"he offered as his final explanation.

I relaxed somewhat as Titania's tiny hand slowly drew away from mine, relieved to know that she had essentially only shared my brief reaction to these memories with Aro, and not my entire embarrassing lifespan with him.

_"_I am hopeful that these experiences will solidify the truth for you, Isabella_," _Aro said suddenly, and although his countenance was presently invisible to me, I swore I could feel the cool stale air ripple slightly around me as his lips twisted into an even wider smile. I was uncertain whether to be utterly delighted or terribly frightened by this, for with Aro, it seemed one could never be absolutely certain whether his widest smiles were the safe, ludicrously happy kind, or the I'm-going-to-eat-you kind.

Before I could heft open my eyes and ascertain this crucial information, however, Aro's smooth, buttery voice sliced into my mind once again and all my previous worries were suddenly forgotten.

_"_It would be such a terrible waste for you to misunderstand, especially with your upcoming transformation…" he intoned mysteriously. His ominous tone gave no direct indication of his meaning, which thoroughly perplexed me, until I suddenly wanted to smack myself for my extreme idiocy—it was obvious. Aro didn't want me to "misunderstand" and attempt to live on a diet of animal blood when I was finally made into a vampire. He wanted to make absolutely sure that when I got my heart's truest desire that I would choose as he did, to consume human blood, and perhaps even accept his unnerving perspective on "human sacrifice".

Faintly, through the haze of Carlisle's sunbathing in the forests of 17th century London, I processed the sensation of my own body gulping.

Aro wanted to make me into a murderer.

Bella Swan abruptly finished her terrified swallowing and suddenly was awash with the dizzying sensation of panic. She didn't want that—she definitely did not want to kill her fellow humans. Killing people was one of the highest wrongs in her eyes, only occasionally surpassed the most brutal cases of rape and dismemberment. Killing was what evil people did, not good, kind-hearted, average people like her. But Aro desired that grisly outcome for her, and so she, knowing full well that Aro always got his way, sooner or later, was horribly distraught.

_Wait… when had "Bella" become "she" and not "me"? _whoever, "I" was questioned, perturbed greatly by the sudden change. _Who am I?_ I wondered, alight with shock as the lush greens and bright lights of the forest surrounding me immediately began to melt away and spiral viciously before my vision into a thick, inky darkness. _Where am I going? Why is everything so dark? _

I was lost and terrified by the utter confusion which enveloped me. And then before I knew it, I was thrust violently into another memory—this one not nearly as old, but the surroundings and sensations just as bizarre as Carlisle's.

…

The first thing I was aware of as the elaborate scenery around me came into sharp, vampiric focus were the wood-paneled walls of a decently sized master bedroom. The walls were painted a bright, spotless white and covered in intricate carvings and expensive gold-plated filigrees.

Turning my head quickly to observe the rest of the room, my acute vision caught sight of a large closet. Its beautiful white doors were open wide to showcase a vast plethora of ruffled silks, downy velvets, and ornate brocades all in varying shades of black, red, grey and gold. Thanks to my supernaturally aided vision, I could see the individual luxurious fibers reflecting slightly in the warm candlelight.

There was also a white-painted wooden desk sitting against the far wall. It was littered with untidy arrangements of scrolls, books, parchment, carefully sealed inkpots and a few scattered feathered pens amid the mess. And a large four-poster bed beside it was covered in an assortment of decorative pillows, and it's sensuous satin sheets which made it painfully obvious the piece of furniture was not particularly intended for sleeping upon.

Having no desire to dwell on what sort of things "I" must use that bed for, I spun rapidly to face the other side of the room. I was greeted by the dazzling sight of a pearl-framed, full-length mirror, the spotless surface of which reflected my likeness in perfect detail.

I paused in my surveying of my unfamiliar surroundings, and took a gradual step towards my reflection, slowly taking in every tiny aspect of my appearance, from the brilliant sheen of the silver buttons on my coat, to the tiny, individual pores of my alabaster skin. Flexing my fingers, which were pale, thin, masculine, and very strong, I suddenly stared down at my feet with the intent of assessing the acceptability of my entire ensemble, and my gaze slowly drifted up from the pointy, heeled and buckled shoes which were traditional for men in this era, to the long white stockings wrapping around my powerful legs, and up to my tailored knee-length black trousers.

From there my eyes continued to rise, climbing up a well-toned stomach and chest, shrouded from my view by a blood-red, frilly button-up shirt, and skimmed along handsome broad shoulders, which were cased in an elaborate 18th century, black brocade tailcoat. A pleased smile tugged at my thin lips as I recognized the familiar silver Volturi pendant, seemingly unchanged despite the passage of centuries, dangling over my flat chest. But the happy expression quickly twisted into a deep frown as my eyes rose to the crown of my head.

Jet black hair was pulled back sharply from my the scalp, revealing a pronounced widow's peak, and its silky length lied immaculately straight as it pooled elegantly over my shoulders. This normally would have pleased me, if it were not for the fact that I knew the loose locks would be irksome in the hours to I reached across the mirror for a delicate, flowery, wide-toothed comb, and a silky black ribbon to remedy the situation, two inquisitive, burgundy eyes met my gaze—their dark color reminding me that I was late for my usual meal—and I immediately realized, who I was in this memory.

I was Aro of the Volturi.

And I was in the process of grooming myself in preparation for the upcoming hunt.

As Bella, I was initially startled by the prospect of experiencing the dauntless vampire's life in such an intimate way, especially given my potent attraction to the lethally dangerous man. But I was thoroughly relieved to find that his own erratic thoughts effectively drowned out most of mine, so I was not hopelessly distracted by the insane gorgeousness of the reflection I currently surveyed in the mirror. Certainly, as Aro, I recognized that I was a good looking fellow, but I was not sexually attracted to myself—which offered a welcome reprieve from my silly flustered fantasies.

I had also worried that perhaps in this form I would again be wracked with the same untamable, unbearable thirst that I had endured in Carlisle's memories, especially with the darkening color of Aro's eyes. Having witnessed Caius' fearsome reaction to his eyes being much the same shade, as Bella, I panicked. But I was surprised to discover that, although it was cloying in its persistence, the faint scratching in my throat was entirely manageable—for now.

Once again, as it was with Carlisle in the beginning of his memories, the most upsetting thing about being Aro right now was not experiencing life in his physical body, but rather the fact that I now reasoned exactly like him.

His chaotic, frenzied state of mind was dizzying to experience. He, or rather I, never focused on one thing for very long, but instead my thoughts flitted rapidly from the memories of countless others whose minds I had read the entirety of in the past, to my own vivid recollections of important events, and finally back to my heady anticipation for what was about to occur. The rush of foreign, crystal-clear images, emotions, and sensations was maddening and relentless, and at once I, Bella, immediately understood the source of Aro's unpredictable mood swings and his slight air of mental instability—of course you would go nuts if you had so many thousands of lifetimes of memories swimming around in your head!

As the thoughts continued to swarm, many of them extremely painful, traumatic and disorienting, I immediately gained a greater appreciation for the man in whose memories I was—for he was keeping it together quite well, given the frightening and ridiculous circumstances. I, Bella, would have totally lost it after five months of this—and yet he had lived with this insane condition for literally thousands of years, with only a few bipolar-like moments to show for it.

I marveled at his incredible tenacity, and was stricken again with profound feelings of inadequacy and I began to wonder why Aro thought I was anything special at all. Clearly, with my inability to endure such intense hardships, (like the pain of thirst and some of the awful things Aro had seen) I was not cut out to be a vampire.

But even so, this disappointing knowledge did nothing to lessen my desire to become one. Instead, it only fueled my fire—_perhaps_, I considered, _by living through both of these powerful, stubborn vampires, I could gain some measure of their unbelievable strength and be worthy of Aro's praising regard. _

As my thoughts were summarily flushed out, by those of the ancient, telepathic vampire, my last realization as Bella, before I was sucked back into the darkness, was that, despite their obvious diverging choices in lifestyle, both Carlisle and Aro—or rather Carlisle and I—shared many striking similarities. We both had a strong sense of protective duty which not only extended to our own preferred company, but also included the welfare of the entire planet. We also both possessed an unwavering adherence to our diverse opinions even in the face of harsh opposition. And we had a gentle fatherly quality about us which indicated that we would treasure those in our respective covens almost as though they were our own biological children.

Of course, by virtue of being separate individuals, we also had our differences.

One such difference was that, instead of all my actions being guided by a persistent, piercing conscience and strong Christian beliefs, I, Aro, operated based on a slightly looser set of ethics, and perceived the world around me from a complicated multiplicity of belief systems. My moral compass was also much more subjective—the particular situation and intent mattered to me a great deal more than absolute actions alone, and I surmised that almost any deed, no matter how objectively vile could be justified given the right combination of extenuating circumstances.

I was stunned as I realized that with this line of reasoning, merely having the innate instinct to imbibe human blood seemed to qualify as sufficient rationalization for my habitual slaughter. For surely, I asserted logically, if whatever higher forces had created my kind did not desire us to kill humans, they would have provided us with, at the very least, marginally attractive alternatives. And the positively revolting possibility of drinking animal blood instead, as my recently admitted guest, Carlisle had suggested, most certainly did not meet this requirement.

Nonetheless, as Heidi was woefully late in returning with our usual food, I had agreed to test his intriguing diet out of sheer curiosity. Despite the fact that I had already seen all his failures and successes with the tongue-grating substance, I wanted to know if the slight differences in our physiologies would cause animal blood to impact my immortal digestive system differently than his. And the only way to know this for certain was to try his bizarre diet for myself.

Although, from his memories, I expected that I would find the taste to be utterly disagreeable, I wondered if perhaps I might eventually, "acclimate" to his strange diet, as he had and whether that was possible while I still continued to drink human blood—or whether the two substances were entirely incompatible with each other. No matter what the outcome of today's experiment, I was relatively confident that I would not abandon my consumption of humans entirely—for the taste of it was simply exquisite, and I utterly loathed the idea of giving up the delectable ambrosia forever. Even if Carlisle's ways were satisfactorily agreeable, I would not convert to a diet solely consisting of the blood of beasts.

However I was sure the strange man I had begun to consider a good friend during his short stay thus far, would appreciate even a compromise of sorts. For even a partial adaptation on my part to his peculiar methods would mean less human deaths. And that would hearten him greatly—as the demise of mortals was something the poor, troubled vampire was strangely unable to stomach.

I thought it peculiar that he was still tormented by that debilitating guilt even now, as he had existed as a vampire for nearly four decades now. In my experience, most immortals by then had determined a way to either reconcile their human beliefs with their undead reality, or simply abandoned their mortal convictions altogether. For him to persist in this stage of moral uncertainty for so long was wholly disheartening to watch. And I wished desperately from the bottom of my unbeating heart that I could help him sort through his feelings to determine which outcome was suitable for him.

I knew firsthand that the process of reevaluating one's deeply held convictions was vastly uncomfortable. And while many of my guard had taken the second route and had violently discarded their holy books and their gods, in the wake of their transformation, I saw no compelling reason that Carlisle had to make the same decision. I did not believe faith was fundamentally incompatible with vampirism. It certainly wasn't in my case.

All that was required of him to be released from his unnatural unease surrounding the subject of consuming humans, was to make a single logical step—to accept that as a new creature, his creator likely expected different things of him than had been expected of him before. Once his mind accepted this simple idea, he would finally be at peace with himself and his occasional, perfectly natural desire for human blood.

Of course, he was so firmly adverse to the idea. His stubbornness was more unyielding than any other force of nature I had ever encountered, and so I doubted that any reasoning, no matter how sound, would sway him from his determination to resist the delicious blood of mortals.

But it was not my objective to change his mind on the matter today. For the moment he seemed content to live in his unnecessary, sacrificial self-denial. And I was fascinated by the excellent opportunity he provided to potentially expand my menu options. For while it was true that I did not regret consuming humans—believing it was what we were naturally designed to consume—I supposed that having alternatives could be useful, especially on days like this, where obtaining food discreetly from among the human populations proved more difficult than anticipated.

Perhaps, even, if I could discover no ill-effects after some time from occasionally dining in this atypical manner, I would persuade the rest of my guard to attempt it. Living on the blood of beasts would certainly necessitate a move of our headquarters as there wasn't enough wildlife in Italy to sustain all of us, but it would certainly reduce the likelihood of drawing too much attention through copious disappearances and murders.

Yes… the possibilities were captivating indeed.

When I finished tying my hair back with the silky black ribbon, and concluded the rest of my obsessive primping—which was entirely unnecessary, as I was about to get horribly mussed whilst hunting anyway—I strode purposefully out of my quarters. My low heels were silent against the thick, lush carpet, and my newly secured tail of hair, swished slightly as I walked.

As I passed into the cool stone hallway beyond, I was delighted to find Carlisle waiting for me outside the door, ready to stoop into a deep groveling bow. At the last minute he suddenly recalled that I despised being worshiped and instead offered a small, timid wave.

My brow furrowed in concern as my hawk-like vision lighted upon Carlisle's skin, which seemed to be the slightest tint greener than mine. It was such an infinitesimal difference in hue that it would be utterly impossible for humans, or even less perceptive vampires to notice, but a marked difference to me and my practiced eyes nonetheless. It didn't look healthy, and upsettingly he had possessed the color ever since our first encounter several days ago.

His eyes today also startled me. Although they'd started out a rich butterscotch color, they were now a deep, midnight black, and there were pronounced dark purple bruises surrounding them like the rings of a raccoon. These signs made it clear to me that Carlisle had allowed his thirst to linger unsatisfied until his body exhibited the alarming symptoms of starvation.

Why he had let himself go this long, rather than simply feed at the first feelings of significant discomfort, as I did, I simply could not understand

After he realized that I drank human blood, we had awkwardly avoided the topic for a few days. Carlisle had spent most of that time holed up in our vast libraries, captivating me with his exceptional intelligence and relentless pursuit of knowledge. But when the subject came up again, I had all-but-begged him to partake of the humans we kept in case of emergency. He had politely refused, telling me that he was quite full, but I didn't believe him in the slightest—not when the evidence of his starvation was staring me in the face.

Thinking I was doing him a favor, I had fetched a quivering mortal, carried her into the wing where Carlisle was studying and slashed her wrist open with a small ivory-handled knife. I was thirsty enough myself that the blood spilling down her fingers proved difficult to resist, and I had to distance myself a few feet to stop myself from lapping it up. But Carlisle, whose thirst was much more severe, astounded me by not only firmly resisting the desire to drink, but also by bandaging the injury and sending the girl away totally unharmed.

His restraint was unfathomable—unearthly, even—and although it was terribly frightening that any vampire could be so unaffected by the substance which frenzied the minds of the rest of us, it was one of the things that had inspired me to attempt, at least for today, to live as he did.

I wanted to understand how his god-like endurance was possible—and if it was something I could attain through his bizarre methods.

As I warmly approached my new friend, with my arms spread enthusiastically wide, I quickly pulled him into a tight, fond embrace. This initially surprised the younger vampire now enclosed in the crushing grip my arms, but nonetheless he eventually responded by returning the amicable gesture, if somewhat less zealously. When I pulled back from him, I dipped my head slightly and gave him a swift, chaste kiss on the cheek, his memories of the last few hours reading in the library dancing vibrantly before my eyes, ears, and over my whole body at the contact of our skin. I was momentarily displaced in time, before the connection was abruptly severed, and I was myself again, staring off into space and struggling to absorb all the enthralling information Carlisle had gleaned from the dusty tomes.

While I was still reeling from the influx, Carlisle shyly returned the gesture, which sent even more sensations and discoveries fluttering my way. I felt the gritty texture of ancient parchment beneath his cool fingers, the gruesomely detailed medical images depicted in the pages, and the whirring of his mind as he considered methods to increase his already profound resistance to human blood. The sensations disappeared as suddenly as they had come, though, as Carlisle drew back from the smooth surface of my cheek.

His doe-like eyes looked me over curiously. "This is the ensemble you had decided to hunt in, Aro?" the blonde vampire asked incredulously. I looked over his simple cotton white shirt, thick leather boots and coarse working trousers: clothes he deemed acceptable for the task. They were a far cry from the ruffled silk and brocade I was wearing and suddenly I was overflowing with mirth, so much so that I bubbled over with rich, high laughter—laughing at myself for my utterly incurable vanity, and laughing at Carlisle for taking notice of it.

"Oh, but of course," I responded in jest. A wide, cheek-splitting smile overtook my features. "Surely you understand that a gentleman must look his best while carousing in the forest"

"I would not describe it as 'carousing'…" Carlisle defended, though from the barest crinkling around his eyes he seemed to laboring very hard to restrain a chuckle.

"There will be drink and merriment, will there not?" was my amicable retort. I gave him a mock-conspiratorial look over my shoulder as if to suggest that we are about to engage in something deliciously clandestine, something wildly indulgent and lawless like a secret outdoor symposium.

"…I suppose…" He conceded hesitantly. He turned his head away from mine in what appeared to be shame to gaze pointedly at the toes of his scuffed black boots, and the smooth stone tiles beneath them.

_Something troubles him about this_, I realized, and at once I was utterly befuddled. _Has it not been his sole object to convince me to do this all week? Why the sudden cold feet?_

"Come now, dear Carlisle, I am oh so curious as to how this will turn out," I said consolingly while gesturing invitingly towards the studious blonde vampire. I hoped to convey my feelings of excitement and thus allay whatever fears he suddenly contracted since I last touched him. "Do tell why this troubles you," I urged him, deep concern etching my regal countenance as I set a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Was this activity not your suggestion, my friend?"

Carlisle's obsidian eyes suddenly snapped up, and I was once again horrified by how there was absolutely no discernable distinction between his pupils and his irises. "I am honored that you are choosing to engage in this experiment with me…" he rushed to clarify, so that I would not mistake his recent behavior as manifestation that he did not desire my company in this thrilling venture. "I only worry that you will be disappointed, sir," he explained. A profound worry and sadness washed over his sallow complexion as he said this. "My first taste was, as you certainly know… unsatisfactory."

_But of course. He worries that if my first experience is as horrid as his was, that I shall totally abandon the prospect and perhaps even scorn him for it. _I thought_. I understand the risks, though he should know that a single unpleasant, non-thirst-quenching taste is hardly enough to deter me. _

"Ah, I suppose that is to be expected," I sighed. Then I shook my head. "It matters not. I will be hunting beasts tonight!" I exclaimed ecstatically. I clapped my hands together near my face to indicate my absolute wonderment at the curious concept and my boundless excitement to test this peculiar new thing for myself. "Is not that fantastic?!

Though initially somewhat taken aback by my response, Carlisle's face suddenly lit up—and my heart soared. It was so very rare to see the younger vampire truly happy when we discussed anything involving feeding. Although we had "agreed to disagree" on this particular topic several days ago when he had first arrived to request use of our libraries, it was no secret that my complete lack of guilt towards devouring humankind perturbed Carlisle greatly. And even though I still did not fully understand it, I could tell that this unorthodox diet of his, and especially its implications that humans were left unharmed meant a great deal to Carlisle.

That I was willing to even try it, despite my original disgust at the idea, had cast a bright, warm glow over his usually sullen pallor.

"Yes. It is," he agreed, positively beaming.

"Then let us not delay any longer!" I suggested with delighted impatience, tossing a dramatic hand in the air with a quick twirl to punctuate the idea. "Lead me to the feast!"

Without any further hesitation, Carlisle turned and sprinted down the long medieval hall. A competitive smirk pulled at the corner of my lips, before I crouched and chased wildly after him—I would not be outrun by my severely famished friend. Despite the obnoxious clacking of my impractical footwear, I managed to catch up to Carlisle extremely quickly, and with a playfully derisive grin, I pushed past him to spring out of the sewer grate first. Carlisle merely rolled his eyes at my silliness as we landed in the nighttime-streets, and we took off in unison toward the wilderness, eager for the hunt.

…

Pale, yellow moonlight shone brightly over the grassy Tuscan countryside that night, and there wasn't a single sound except for the soft rustling of leaves and the cool whistle of the evening wind. As the chilly breeze whipped through the air, I lied on my stomach behind a crop of bushes beside my dear friend, Carlisle. He sat on his heels in a deep crouch a few feet to my right, waiting patiently with me to catch the scent of our intended meal.

I watched intently as his dark eyes switched anxiously over the misty horizon looking for prey, and wanting to do my part, I continually sniffed the crisp autumn air for any sign of even a remotely appetizing scent. Knowing that this forest was teeming with wildlife, I had expected to smell _something_, but my keen nose caught nothing except the earthly smells of fresh dry leaves, dewy green grass, and cool evening air. My search was somewhat hopeless, since I had not spent enough time amidst animals since my transformation to recognize their scent, but I greatly disliked the idea of being totally passive in this venture. So I kept sniffing, trusting that Carlisle, from his years of experience knew what he was doing.

After thirty agonizing minutes of waiting, my head suddenly snapped up from the damp grass. I could now sense that there was a warm body slowly approaching us—a rather large one, it seemed. Automatically I inhaled, hoping to gather the tasty aroma into my nostrils, but its scent was pastoral, muddy, and bland, and held absolutely no appeal to my palate. _Was this what we were after?_ I wondered, silently hoping for something slightly more appealing to come along.

"Aro," Carlisle suddenly whispered to me in tones so low that only vampires could hear. He turned his head on his neck to face mine, and pointing a single white finger in the direction of a large fallow deer as it broke through a clearing in the distance. "Try that one," he encouraged softly. His deep black eyes swimming with excitement as he spoke, and his whole frame jittering with the restraint it took not to tear after the beast himself.

Hesitantly, I averted my gaze from his, and stared in complete confusion at the gentle creature as it bent its head gradually to nibble at the wet grass beneath its feet. Despite my thirst, I felt no desire to consume this beast. Nothing stirred within me at all. I was utterly unmoved by the presence of this kindly herbivore, and yet Carlisle was visibly shaking from the effort to allow me the first taste tonight.

It was unsettling.

"You wish me to taste a deer?" I whispered back disbelievingly. "Was not that ineffective the first time?"

Carlisle tilted his head acquiescingly, acknowledging the correctness of my statement. I watched intently as another flicker of bloodlust flashed over his features before he spoke to justify his choice. "I am afraid deer are the only game large enough to sustain me here in Italy. Hares and porcupines simply will not do of course," he explained with a humored smile, and I made a disgusted face as I imagined the awkwardness of trying to wrap my dexterous hands and iron-strong teeth around the tiny, fluffy or prickly creatures, only to be rewarded with a tiny amount of blood for my humiliating efforts.

"Very well," I responded. I was glad for the presence of a vampire more seasoned in this unorthodox diet than I—for certainly I would make a compete fool of myself, chasing after every tiny rodent I could find in order to gain my fill. "Perhaps you should go first, allow me to watch so that I may imitate your actions?" I suggested politely as I rose to my feet and quickly dusted the blades of grass and leaves off of my black, brocade tailcoat.

For the briefest fraction of a second Carlisle parted his soft lips to protest, but then instantly snapped them shut and offered an abrupt, silent nod. He seemed to accept my explanation immediately in his eagerness, and yet I could tell that he was profoundly ashamed that his hunger was more demanding at the moment than mine. I was perplexed that his thirst inspired such deep guilt to saturate his being, especially since he was dining on animals tonight, and he has never had any scruples about killing them for food.

But I was not allotted any more time to ponder this, for as soon as he had completed his nod, he darted out of the bushes with lightning speed towards the unsuspecting mammal in the valley below. I beamed ecstatically as I watched him action, thrilled to finally see the civilized man hunt and experience the rare privilege of witnessing that savage side him which he so desperately tried to hide from everyone, even himself.

As he raced along the hilly ground after the creature, his long powerful strides carrying him great distances, I marveled at his single-minded focus on the beast as it spotted him, and futilely bolted in an attempt to escape. He chased the creature over the wet grass for a while, the dewy mist he kicked up spraying brilliant eight-color rainbows into the air, before he suddenly sprung from a deep crouch. With his arms outstretched, Carlisle sailed mesmerizingly through the air, rapidly closing the distance between him and the frightened animal. He then grappled the animal's furry torso in a bone-crushing grip, and pinned the poor creature to the ground fiercely with his bare hands. After subduing his prey, he buried his head deep in the animal's neck without hesitation.

I watched in anxious fascination as he savagely drank from the beast, which twitched violently in pain as Carlisle's toxic venom entered its bloodstream. I was pleased that my friend had not entirely lost touch with his feral side after all—for I worried that a complete repression of the wildness in him, which was inherent to all vampires, would eventually cause him to rage out of control from the pressure of holding it back. And while his ravenous biting and slurping was perhaps not the best way to embrace this particular aspect of him, I was gratified that even with his profound hatred of anything so unbridled and destructive, he would at least concede to his instincts in the heat of the moment. It gave me hope that there was something natural, something relatable about him after all.

My contentment was shattered, however when the direction of the slight evening breeze suddenly shifted, and I was assaulted with the putrid odor of animal blood clashing with the air. It was a caustic, rotten smell, somewhat reminiscent of moldy gutter-water, sour milk, and rancid lemons. A sudden, violent queasiness seized me in response to the abhorrent scent. And although I try to simply shake off my extreme, unexplained disgust, I was eventually forced to wrinkle my nose to alleviate the stench, and wait impatiently for Carlisle to finish.

When he finally finished with his nauseating meal, I suppressed the urge to heave a sigh of relief as he apathetically casted the beast aside. After the body was deposited in the bushes, Carlisle reached swiftly into his trouser pocket, and daintily wiped the blood beading on his lips and chin with a lacy white handkerchief.

The scene was so jarring—his sudden concession to etiquette such a stark contrast with his earlier barbarism—that I forgot my worries about the nasty scent and his unnerving lack of "natural response" to his meal and bursted into uncontrollable laughter.

The image of Carlisle's self-conscious gesture was perfectly preserved in my memories and high, manic cackles escaped my pale lips as I played the scene over and over again in my mind. The gesture would have been much more fitting at a French dinner party then in the lawless forests of Tuscany—and my chest shook heartily at the contrast. It was made even funnier by the fact that such was quite characteristic of the strange vampire. Carlisle had frequently amused me during his stay thus far with his unwavering insistence on following human etiquette, even in places where it seemed foolish to apply—such as now.

Certainly I understood that one's face needed to be cleaned after feeding. But I usually performed the task with my tongue—completely unconcerned with how animalistic it might appear—not a delicate scrap of cloth!

"Aro," Carlisle said with mild annoyance. An embarrassed look crossed his downcast face, which seemed to suggest his cheeks would have been painted with a deep rouge blush, had he been human. "Your laughter is scaring away your meal."

"Oh but this is simply too much to bear," I defended, still roaring with laughter. "Your mannerisms… they are so _human_ despite your vampiric actions. The combinations is…" I trailed off for dramatic effect, and Carlisle raised his eyebrows at the theatrics, "…simply hilarious!" I finished, staring a whole new round of wild, high-pitched laughter.

Carlisle offered a small smile. "I am glad you find me entertaining, Aro."

But after only a few seconds, his expression suddenly became deadly serious. "Let us get you something to drink, shall we?" he suggested. His words were effortlessly polite, but his tone betrayed his commanding impatience, which shocked me, as the generous man was usually unhurried in every situation and I saw no particular reason to rush. We had the entire night to hunt.

Troubled, I ceased my laughter immediately and agreed with a slow nod to remain silent until I fed, watching with worry as Carlisle slunk slowly back behind the bushes were I stood, and absolutely refused to look me in the eye. I was about to enquire in a small whisper about his uncanny shift in demeanor, but the opportunity to do so vanished, as another deer came before us. This one was a large buck, rather than a medium-sized doe, and it began to graze on the dewy grasses, oblivious to the presence of two deadly predators watching its every move.

I twisted my head rapidly towards Carlisle, to ascertain if this was acceptable game to pursue. But as my long ebony locks swirled around me and settled perfectly over the ornate lapels of my tailcoat, and my curious eyes searched out his familiar face, I was greeted with the sight of the back of his head. Unwilling to confront him in his perplexingly volatile emotional state, I suddenly decided that I, Aro of the Volturi did not need his approval to select my prey. I could make that decision on my own—thank you very much.

Careful to be as stealthy as possible, I mimicked Carlisle's movements as I sprinted into the wide clearing, lunging at the appropriate time in my hot pursuit of the desperately fleeing creature, and pinning it easily to the grassy floor. A loud _snap_ echoed through the countryside as I smashed several of the animal's bones against the unforgiving ground and the beast wriggled in agony. As it bucked uselessly against my incredible strength I hesitated, utterly repulsed by the foul, stomach-churning smell it emitted, enhanced ten-fold by its increased proximity. _Did I really want to eat something that merely the scent of it made me want to vomit? _I considered, troubled by the intensity of my distaste for something I had not yet even tried.

Determined to at least try it, before I decried it entirely, I lurched forward, sinking my teeth deep into the deer's furry neck. Slowly, I began to lap at the liquid which poured out of the wound, hoping beyond hope that the taste I would soon discover would not be nearly as disagreeable as the smell. However, I was profoundly disappointed when the hot blood which spilled into my mouth was not only worse than the smell, but was ever fouler than I had experienced in Carlisle's mind. It was truly a ghastly flavor!

Unable to bear it any longer, I immediately tore my mouth away from the beast, doubled over against my will and violently spewed it out—a fountain of dark red spurting from my lips into the lush grass, and all over my clothes. I ignored the the dark stain spreading over my expensive shirt and jacket, the thrashing creature beneath me and the liquid gushing wastefully from its neck. The taste in my mouth was too awful for me to care about wasting it, and I choked on the last remaining drops stuck in my throat.

Lighting off my prey, I abandoned it bleeding to death in the valley to search out of the nearest source of water.

I needed to wash every last drop of horrible substance out of my throat—_now_.

…

I was bent over a small, trickling stream, and my fancy garments and once-immaculate hair were totally soaked with the clear, fresh water when Carlisle eventually caught up to me. He surveyed my dripping, gasping form on the saturated banks with an unreadable expression.

By repeatedly throwing myself into the stream, swallowing a mouthful of water, and gargling it harshly in my mouth before spitting it back out, I had managed to finally erase the last vestiges of the blood from my throat. But the horrid taste was still painfully vibrant in my mind, and although I knew Carlisle would vigorously disapprove, I desperately wanted to drink human blood right now to utterly delete it from my memories.

They way he was looking at me was slowly killing this desire though—his eyes were shining like he was about to cry. And although that action was physically impossible for vampires, it stunned me that my reaction had elicited such strong feelings in him.

"…It was not to your liking…" Carlisle's voice was tight, pained, and grief-stricken, as though my rejection of his revolting diet was a personal injury. That I had somehow betrayed him by spitting out his humble offering, despite the fact that I had not consciously chosen to do so, but rather my gag-reflex had kicked in and done the spewing for me.

As I stared into his bright golden eyes, which were shining with deep hurt, I was at a complete loss for what to say. He looked positively miserable, and I wanted nothing more than to drag him into a fierce, warm embrace and console him with soothing words. But I had no kind words to offer. Nothing that was true, anyway, and it was strictly against my code of ethics to lie unnecessarily.

I turned over every possible, truthful statement I could give to him in my mind, but none of them quite worked. There were no words to appropriately express my sorrow that this did not work out, without deceiving him into perceiving that I had rejected his ways deliberately, or lying that I possessed any desire to attempt to drink animal blood again. And as I continued to search for the right, placating phrase, I took the opportunity to regard the changes Carlisle's recent meal had wrought on him.

It was disturbing to realize, as my eyes roved over his face, that his skin still had the sickly, slightly greenish hue from before and the dark purple splotches underneath his eyes had not lightened in the slightest. There was a light dusting of lavender circling around my eyes (a tribute to that fact that I never slept) but it was barely a shade darker than my alabaster skin. The circles under Carlisle's eyes, however, were a disturbing, deep grape color, which I had only seen before once, when Caius and I had locked a criminal vampire in our dungeons and starved him to death to see if such a thing was possible for our kind.

_Could it be… that despite his recent feeding, Carlisle was still thirsty? _I wondered, awestruck at the horrifying possibility. _Perhaps I am simply missing something_, I tried to reassure myself.

Carlisle shifted nervously under my deep scrutiny, and I noticed as he fidgeted that he still had that lethargic air about him—the subtle lack of grace and speed he had exhibited when I had easily passed him in our jovial race out of the castle to get here. Although it was clear from the rigid line of his shoulders that he had regained some of his strength, I got the impression that the nutrients he had obtained from his hunting tonight were only barely enough to keep him at half, or perhaps even a quarter of his potential strength.

However, what most obviously indicated his continued thirst in my mind was his continued twitching, which seemed to come from an internal struggle as he wrestled with something inside him. The agitated way his gold eyes flickered at every possible indication of movement, at every rustle of leaves and snapping twig which echoed in the night, reminded me of the way Caius behaved when his thirst remained unsatisfied for too long—the snowy-haired vampire would get antsy and would turn sharply at the slightest provocation.

And if Carlisle, being such a gentle-hearted creature, was bearing any resemblance, no matter how slight, to the most animalistic member of the Volturi, this diet was definitely not working as it should.

Desperately needing to know what was really going on, and also hoping to soothe my friend, I drew my hand up to touch his face, cupping his chin softly, and through my gift, I was suddenly assaulted with the memories of his recent feast. In my absence, it seemed he had taken the liberty to consume another deer, two being his habitual number, but as his thoughts of both meals filtered through the connection I ignored the details of both hunts, and focused instead on the aftermath. His body hadn't given him the "pleasure response" that normally accompanied my meals on human blood, but I did feel his nigh-immediate cessation of pain after the nauseating blood had filled his stomach.

Confused by the quelling of his fiery thirst that I felt in his memories, and the disconnect between the sensation of almost complete relief and the symptoms of ravaging starvation which still marred his features, I was about to pull away and question why this was so. But then his memories caught up to the present, and I began to experience was he was experiencing, _right now_, along with him.

I gasped as I was suddenly seized with a sharp, incomprehensible pain. To say his throat was on fire, or felt as though it had been horribly scratched by thorns was wholly inadequate to describe the sensation. His (and since I was in his memories it also felt like my) throat seemed to have been split open in several places, and hot cattle prods were raking mercilessly against the raw, jagged edges. I felt his nearly insurmountable desire to claw at the burning in his neck, and I very nearly released him in order to claw wildly at my own, the pain was so intense.

As I retained our contact, despite the torture of doing so, images of Carlisle standing triumphantly amidst miles and miles of blood-soaked human bodies invaded my mind—his body's "helpful" fantasies, I realized. But the scene was so vivid and startling that even I—who felt no guilt in taking human life—recoiled in horror at the prospect of so much wasteful slaughter.

But just as abruptly as the gruesome pictures and scorching torture had seized me, I felt something within Carlisle shift infinitesimally, and suddenly the images and sensations were totally different. The decades worth of unabsolved thirst had vanished almost completely, reduced to a dull hum, and the cruel fantasies were painted over with despairing images of Carlisle roasting in some bottomless fiery pit somewhere, which I presumed to be his rather colorful conception of Hell. After the unexpected shift, Carlisle still looked visibly pained, but I understood that his reasons for being so were entirely different—a profound fear of hellfire and a mild tingle in his throat made him sullen now, rather than guilt over brutal fantasies and blazing thirst stronger than anything I had ever felt.

I marveled at what I had experienced and scoured his recent thoughts to scrounge back up the wild thirst and disturbing images which had just assaulted me moments before. But strangely, as I wracked his mind, I was unable to find them. They were no longer there—nor in any other part of his lifetime of thoughts, from the earliest moments of mortal lucidity, to the most recent moments in this forest with me. They were completely erased—no, _replaced_—as though they had never happened.

I continued to hold his face, and was further horrified to discover that this was not simply a one-time event, but rather an on-going process, of deleting his present experiences as soon as they slipped into the past, and replacing them with more pleasant memories. The agony of unsatisfied thirst would overtake him in the present, but as soon as possible, they were written over by virtue of his gift with sensations and thoughts which were, despite the terror that they inspired in me, I supposed, easier for the troubled vampire to bear.

And he had been doing this for practically his entire immortal existence.

No wonder his thirst had grown so immeasurably severe.

I initially wondered why, if we was going to use his abilities to change his own memories, why he did not simply replace his thirst with contentment, until I recalled from his mind that he was incapable of changing the emotional sentiment behind an event he altered. And so in order to explain away the constant guilt, longing, and discomfort, he had to invent something equally disturbing to him to logically fill in the gaps. And to this devout, faithful soul, the only conceivable thing which even compared to the distress caused by his thirst, was the horrifying vision of eternal damnation.

Suddenly his subconscious choice of imagined hellfire made sense, for both his conception of the place and the thirst he was tormented with were vividly painful and fiery. But it also struck me as horribly ironic. Carlisle was terrified of Hell, and yet, unbeknownst to him he was already living in it.

Oh how badly I wanted to release him from his anguish.

Carlisle suddenly swallowed audibly, drawing me quickly out of his thoughts.

"Aro…" he said nervously, starting to get extremely uncomfortable with my prolonged touching of his face. He was worried that the elongation of my innocent contact was meant to indicate that I harbored inappropriately amorous feelings for him.

I almost laughed at the thought—while Carlisle certainly was a handsome fellow, I had already pledged my absolute, eternal fidelity to another, and would never cross over the line which separated a deep friendship from a sexual relationship with the man. Of course, because of our different upbringings, my conception of what physical contact was acceptable between friends, and what was reserved solely for my spouse was rather different than his—and I often made Carlisle uncomfortable with amicable embraces and quick pecks, which were innocently platonic in my mind, but gave a very different impression to him. I had made it very clear in the beginning of our stay that I was not intending to tease him, or pursuing an affair with him, but rather I saw no reason for my marriage to interfere with non-sexual physicality between us. I was a touchy-feely kind of person, and Carlisle was one of the few who never initially rejected my touch—not matter how strange or intrusive it was to him—and so I wanted to take advantage of that as much as I could.

Now was no different. Carlisle was uncomfortable with my prolonged proximity, and looked almost ready to begin squirming in my complacent grasp, when I suddenly released my wet hand from his face and drew back.

"No… I am afraid that I did not appreciate the taste," I responded finally, making no effort to hide my true, bitterly loathing attitude towards the substance I had just consumed. "How _can_ you drink that?"

Carlisle looked down, sadness evident in his features.

"Perhaps after living on human blood for so long, you have grown accustomed to it. Animal blood is all I have ever known," Carlisle offered weakly, as though even his own understanding of the physiological effects of his strange diet were very nebulous, despite having lived this way for several years now. Upon hearing his tenuous explanation, I decided that if Carlisle rejected my attempts at persuasion and persisted in his unhealthy ways that I would study and document all the adverse side effects of his condition in extreme detail, so that he would finally be unable to deny the truth that in his compassion he was starving. I desperately hoped that he would listen to me tonight and abandon this silly charade he was putting on.

But my insatiable curiosity in regards to how he had lived this long in this manner had me hopelessly torn.

I had surmised from this experience that there must be trace nutrients in animal blood which were barely keeping him alive, but he was as far as could be from satisfied. That much was was evident from his lack of a proper reaction to his meal and from the maddening pain he was suppressing with his mind.

I also supposed that the old adage that "one will eat anything when they're starving" applied here as well—which would explain why the deer blood had appealed to him, and not to me. I was only _beginning _to feel the irritating tingling of hunger, not famished to the point of drinking dirt. And if that was so, that meant that Carlisle was living perpetually on the brink of death—his vivid delusions the only reason for his outward appearance of sanity—his ravenousness so intense that he would eat literally anything to sustain himself, no matter how horrid.

I suddenly felt the need to rectify this situation, for although I had not known him for long, Carlisle was my friend.

And friends do not let friends starve themselves.


	11. Chapter 10: Trials and Errors

**AN: So I wrote and rewrote this chapter probably a million times, and I ended up splitting it in half, even though I cut out probably just as much as I have written here. The other half will be posted as soon as its polished. I'm sorry if it seems either too long, or too rushed, but I struggled a lot with this one-there's so much that goes on, and so much information to give, but I also don't want to bore you guys by dragging it out too much.**

**Anyway, w****atch out guys, if you're not careful Carlisle will reject your reality and substitute his own… literally. :P**

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Trials and Errors**

When Carlisle and I at last returned from our unsuccessful attempt at quelling our thirst with the blood of deer, I immediately pulled him aside in one of the empty corridors of the underground castle. After quickly ascertaining that we were well and truly alone, I begun to express my deep concerns, in regards to his steadily deteriorating health. I delivered an aggrieved explanation of what I had witnessed in his mind through my gift—specifically his continuing agony of thirst in the present, and the curious manner in which it disappeared altogether from his thoughts as soon as the moment slipped into the past. As I talked, Carlisle appeared to listen intently, occasionally offering the barest of nods to indicate that he was following my account. But his tiny inclinations of the head, I later learned, were _not_ indications of his agreement with my theories. Though, understandably I misconstrued them as such, and was heartened greatly that my dear friend appeared to believe me from only a few smooth syllables spilling elegantly over my lips.

When I finished my theatrical recounting of recent events, and politely requested that Carlisle relate his thoughts on the matter, however, my hasty hopes were quickly dashed to pieces. Carlisle not only refused to accept the horrifying truth that he was deluding himself, but also utterly denounced the entire notion that self-memory-modification was even theoretically possible without his being aware of it.

Visibly distraught by his total, and wholly unexpected rejection, though still retaining my flawless, tactful delicacy, I ardently struggled to justify my revelation. First I sincerely reiterated that my gift had never lied to me before. Then secondly I informed him that logically, since his powers were activated by physical touch and a desire for the one he touched to remember something differently, that he—by virtue of being himself, and thus always in physical contact with himself—could, theoretically alter his own memories with the tiniest, most unconscious of desires to forget.

But for all its evident merit, Carlisle passionately disagreed with my sound rationalization. He irately insisted that his memories of his thirst's satisfaction as a result of drinking animal blood were one-hundred-percent genuine. And as he protested my well-developed reasoning he even displayed the shocking audacity to insinuate that perhaps I was spinning falsehoods myself in order to coerce him into changing his ways.

I venomously retorted that I would _never_ stoop so low as to manipulate my friend with such an underhanded move—not to mention that if Carlisle's thirst was genuinely satisfied, I would have absolutely no issue with him drinking the blood of beasts. This temporary lapse in anger management was costly, however, as our formerly strained, but still rather polite conversation quickly spiraled into a heated, howling confrontation. Our incensed voices raised to piercing decibels, deep, gutter snarls, and we even seized each other forcefully by the collar to emphasize our points as our bellowed arguments echoed cacophonously off the cool stone walls.

We argued zealously back and forth in the vacant corridor for some time, each rebuttal growing more fierce, wrathful, and mindless. The deep importance this subject had in our hearts, whittled away mercilessly at our tempers. However, after some time, I realized, while both of my powerful hands were tightly fisted in the coarse fabric of Carlisle's threadbare cotton shirt, that we were getting absolutely nowhere with this.

It was my word against his—my memories through my mental gift, versus his memories through his.

And unless we had a way to share our perceptions through an objective third party—which we did not—we would be utterly unable to solve this conflict through our own recollections alone.

Halting in my violent shaking of his person, I slowly lowered the vampire in my tenacious grasp back to his black-booted feet and unwound my fingers from the rough folds of his clothing. I inclined my head downwards ever so slightly in silent apology, and floated back a step to survey the damage I wrought upon him in my compassionate rage. As my eyes flashed worriedly over the significantly tousled, but otherwise intact vampire, Carlisle merely stood stunned by the sudden termination of my assault. He pressed his lips together in a hard line while slowly flickering his eyelids shut—an expression which was his all-too-familiar way of showing that he was displeased with himself: this time for allowing himself to get so carried away in his anger as to result in such an unsightly scuffle between us.

I wanted to sigh in exasperation—honestly, if there was any one of us which should take the blame for what had just transpired, it should be me. I had been utterly insensitive in regards to his moral compunctions against killing humans, and only been thinking of his physical well-being, wholly ignoring the important factor of his spiritual self-contentment. But if there was one thing that Carlisle trumped every other living thing at, it was taking upon himself guilt that rightfully belonged to someone else.

"I… deeply apologize… I have no idea what came over me… I—" Carlisle stammered out desperately. His disheveled form suddenly became overcome with distressingly intense fear, most likely of the retribution he expected from me for what he perceived to be "insubordination" on his part.

I gently raised a single, forbidding palm to silence him. "Shh…" I whispered softly, caressing Carlisle's cheeks with my cool breath. I slowly placed a single finger over Carlisle's pale lips, which were frozen open, mid-apology, and settled my other hand peacefully against his tense left shoulder, which immediately relaxed in response to the comforting weight. "There is no need to apologize. It is rather clear that we are of a different mind on this subject, and heaven knows we are both extremely stubborn men," I offered reassuringly, the corner of my mouth tugging into a smirk.

The hand I had pressed to his lips slid beneath his pale chin to stroke it tenderly. While I caressed his skin, I consciously exerted effort to direct my relaxing pheromones to encourage Carlisle to become comfortable in my presence, an effort which proved to be extremely successful. I smiled as all the residual tension in his nervous figure rapidly vanished.

"Besides," I breathed quietly in continuation, pausing for a brief moment to consider my next choice of words carefully. "…if there is anyone who should apologize in this situation, it should be me." I splayed a deeply apologetic hand over the splotchy, bloodstained frilly red shirt I still wore from our hunt, to clearly demonstrate my profound regret over my recent ungentlemanly behavior. A sorrowful light also sparkled in my dark burgundy eyes to ensure he was aware of the sincerity of my declaration.

Carlisle's eyes widened to the size of tea saucers—clearly it had never occurred to him that it was I who had trespassed more greatly than he—even though it was, from my perspective, blatantly obvious. Even with my profound fatherly concern for his reckless endangerment to his health, I should have approached the topic more delicately.

Of course, in a way, I was also secretly apologizing for what I was about to say next. Because I now realized—having seen his wrathful reaction, and heard his suspicions that I was attempting to coerce him—that the only way to restore trust between us was for me to rescind the revelation of his self-delusion. I positively hated the idea of lying to him, especially about something so important. But it was now obvious that if I continued to express my opinion that his perceptions were false and mine were true, the clashing realities in our minds would lead him to suppose that I was either a raving lunatic, or a manipulative hypocrite.

And that would totally discredit, in his eyes, any attempt to sway him to feed differently, no matter how logical.

He would never believe that he was starving himself if he thought that I was either lying to him, or insane.

Determined to rescue my friend from his self-inflicted torture, but understanding that such a thing was most certainly not going to happen overnight, I lied smoothly that I had been "mistaken" in my observation. I justified my previous "erroneous" judgment by stating that I had merely confused the sensations of my own unsatisfied thirst with his when I had read his mind. But now I firmly asserted that in that hindsight the two were easily distinguishable.

This justification would have been utterly implausible to anyone who had an intimate understanding of my gift. The truth was that when I was in the mind of someone else I lost all physical awareness of my own body and became wholly them, and could only vaguely restore my sense of touch, and my motor capacities with great concentration. Feeling my own thirst while I read another's thoughts was utterly beyond me. But Carlisle, only having known me for a few short days, accepted my story easily, a fact that cause a horrible, rotten feeling to creep into my chest, which I tried to ferociously beat it back, to no avail.

The rancid, piercing guilt accumulating in my heart, persisted for a moment, before it was almost entirely overshadowed by the incredible joy that my deception had almost instantaneously patched our friendship. As soon as I admitted "fault", Carlisle embraced me enthusiastically, and announced his honest intention to forgive all the negativity which had fallen between us tonight. Our earlier truce to never forcibly coerce the other to change their feeding habits was amicably reinstated, and as we parted ways to don clean clothes and reconfigure our mussed appearances, I was content.

Carlisle's positive opinions of me—which would be absolutely necessary to eventually convince him of his folly—had been restored.

It still troubled me that he would suffer through something as dreadfully calamitous as starvation for a while longer. But as I laid the subject to rest, and we instead poured over ancient texts together in the spacious marble halls of our labyrinthine library, pursued rousing discussions about philosophy, religion, science, art and medicine, and put our scientifitc theories to the test in the dungeon catacombs, for the next several weeks, I began to worry less for him.

Despite his unanswered dissatisfaction, and resulting physical weakness, he appeared to have a vibrant vitality about him. His bright smiles and unburdened heart—excepting the passing moments when his thirst became unbearable, and his mind replaced his agony with the harrowing fear of hellfire—were delightful to behold. I knew that this peace was granted by the fact that he did not have to take human life, and as weeks bled into months I started to loath the idea of disrupting the apparent peace Carlisle had with his current existence.

His physical health was still in high question—for I doubted that his body would continue to ravage him with thirst if all was well. But he appeared to have enough strength to easily best humans, at the very least. And he made no complaint about his relative weakness in comparison to my guard, so I left the topic alone for a long time. Now and then, I briefly entertained notions of bringing it up again, as I felt his unanswered pain through my gift. But as the months slipped past, the matter of our varying food sources was remained almost wholly unmentioned between us because I did not want to upset the man whom I was growing to love as brother, and he seemed perfectly content with his situation.

And so I decided, at least for a time, to allow him to live in ignorant bliss. Whenever Carlisle declared his intention to hunt, I remained utterly neutral, betraying none of my internal horror over the prospect of consuming something so foul. And he extended the same courtesy, refraining from any impolite speech when I offered him access to our accumulation of human remains for scientific research, or when I informed him that I had to briefly leave his presence to feed.

All-too-quickly, those amicable months had bled into years, and the years bled into a decade. It was a wonderful time. We had our inhuman likeness captured by the renowned, and all-too-excited-to-paint-us, mortal artist Francesco Solimena, and lived with no quarrel between us, even as we dissected the corpses I had fed upon. And because of Carlisle's great appreciation for our lasting truce, and the extreme pleasantness of our encounters, I was almost content to continue in this manner of interaction with him forever.

Almost.

But as I grazed his cheek with my pale knuckles today while announcing my imminent departure to attend the regularly scheduled feast, and watched him turn his head gently away to avert his golden eyes from my gaze, I was reminded of why this could not persist eternally. Through the bond we shared in those fleeting moments of contact, I felt his blazing agony and overwhelming bloodlust with disturbing force as he struggled with himself to keep himself firmly planted in his seat.

Deep inside, I knew he fervently wanted to join us. His thoughts in the present, unadulterated by his overactive subconscious, were full of vivid depictions of him wildly slaughtering and consuming the entire party of mortals brought into the fortress. But outwardly he absolutely refused to acknowledge those things, He could not accept the reality that after fifty years of denying himself, he was overwhelmed with natural urges, and that there was no shame in satisfying them in the manner they were designed to be satisfied.

And while my fingers lifted away from his cool skin, I was once again stricken with a fierce desire to show him in a manner that was wholly incontestable how utterly unhealthy and self-destructive his current diet was. His suppressed thirst had only worsened during our decade together and I could no longer simply let it slide. I certainly hoped that our wonderfully blossoming friendship would not have to be sacrificed in the process. And as I stood authoritatively amidst the gathering crowd of vampires in one of the castle turrets, I began thinking of ways to broach the topic again, albeit with much more delicacy, so as to not cause Carlisle to mistrust me again.

As I rose my hands towards the vaulted ceiling and spoke the last words the humans congregated in this room would ever hear, "Welcome to Volterra!" I immediately realized that the only way to prove the truth to Carlisle was to conduct a proper experiment. We would have to test his unorthodox diet on others, and compare their health with the health of myself and my guard. It was not perhaps the easiest thing to arrange—I would need to acquire several newborn vampires in order to perform it properly—but an experiment was a fabulous idea. Carlisle was extremely likely to agree to participate, and that data we gleaned from it would not only demonstrate his own difficulties to him in a manner he could not deny, but would satisfy my curiosity as well.

Through an experiment, I could unveil _all_ of the side-effects, not simply the obvious ones, of living on animal blood.

…

Carlisle's eyes sparkled with delight. "An experiment?" His voice was halfway skeptical and halfway ecstatic as he leaned forward anxiously in his seat in the wooden chair directly opposite mine. He was sitting across a fine mahogany desk, littered with thick ancient volumes, feather pens, and tightly sealed inkpots, his athletic frame straining against the costly apparel I had outfitted him with. "Did you not already prove for yourself decades ago that my ways are folly in your eyes?" He enquired excitedly, his whole being clearly burning with the hope that I still harbored the desire to "amend my murderous ways."

He twirled an ink-stained feather in his pale hands as he eagerly awaited my response.

I closed my crimson eyes and shook my head slowly, my long black hair tossing distractingly as I clarified my meaning. "No, I will not be drinking the blood of beasts…" I asserted firmly, my acidic tone offering no room for debate. I held up a forbidding palm to suggest that I would _never_ partake of the foul substance ever again_, _unless I was somehow overwhelmed by force and it was poured maliciously down my throat.

"...but I want to see its effects on others," I went on. "Both vampires like myself, who have partaken of mortal blood for centuries, and those who have never tasted mortal blood like yourself. That way we may determine if my long history of human-drinking has simply corrupted me beyond the ability to utilize your method, or if your diet is simply… unsustainable," I explained, maintaining a strictly neutral tone so as to avoid offense.

"And how might we come to such a conclusion?" He probed further, his curiosity undeterred by my gentle insinuations of doubt towards his lifestyle and my casual reference to imbibing from humans. He set his white feather quill against the reddish wood and interlocked his nimble fingers to signify that I had his full attention.

"Athenodora and Carmen have volunteered," I elucidated.

Two artfully shaped blonde brows to nearly disappeared into Carlisle's hairline, and his glittering golden eyes widened like saucers at my mention of the familiar female names.

"With the recent addition of Eleazar to my coven..." I gestured towards a tall, dark-haired man in a simple black tailcoat standing on the other side of the library. "I have found several gifted humans which I intend to transform into vampires." I pointed to a small crowd of twelve, blush-faced mortals, of varying ages, abilities, and manners of dress who surrounded Eleazar. "And once I have changed them, I will allow you to keep them in the dungeons under observation, and feed them solely in your… unorthodox manner," I offered. "That way we may know for certain if they suffer any ill effects, or not."

Carlisle blinked quizzically at my suggestion. "You plan to let me use some of your own as guinea pigs?" he exclaimed in utter disbelief. His unusual eyes were wide with alarmed surprise, and his dry lips parted by the strain of his unhinged jaw.

Indeed, it was shocking that I was willing to risk the well-being my own, because I cared for all of those under my charge nearly as much as if as I was their own father. However, it should not have been entirely unexpected. Despite my profound love for both the current and future members of my guard, they were still merely tools in my immense arsenal, to use and dispose of as I saw fit.

"Should your diet really work as you claim, they will face no harm," I offered not only placate him, but also to issue an indirect challenge—_did he really doubt his diet so much that he was unwilling to test it on others?_ I wondered. _Did my violent reaction all those years ago truly shake his faith in it that much?_

Carlisle pursed his lips in response, and his gaze drifted away from mine to survey the gaggle of humans surrounding Eleazar. They were animatedly laughing at some joke he had spoken too quietly for me to hear whilst occupied in this conversation with Carlisle, and their blood-filled hearts were thundering in both of our sensitive ears despite the considerable distance between the group and us.

Carlisle's eyes roved over the small party of fragile beings, seeming to survey them with a detached interest. There were seven males and five females between the ages of nineteen and thirty five, and it looked like Carlisle was trying to postulate what sort of latent powers they might possess which would intrigue me enough to make them vampires. I sensed in him a profound sadness at the idea that their mortality was swiftly drawing to a close. Even though they would not leave this earth when they were bitten, he considered their transformation to be a death of sorts. And his grief over the idea was locked in ardent combat with his mounting desire to follow through with my request.

He did not want them to be vampires. But knowing that I would transform them regardless of his own wishes, I hoped that he would set aside his fervent loathing of his own species, and accept the amazing opportunity I was offering him to prove, or disprove the validity of his way of life.

"I see…" he said contemplatively, rubbing his thumb and forefinger over his chin as he considered the appeal and possible downsides to such an arrangement.

"Does this interest you?" I queried hopefully, reaching my anxious hands across the polished wooden surface of the table separating us to rest my fingers softly across the pronounced knuckles of his entwined hands, in order to ascertain his true feelings about the matter. Carlisle made no move to shy away from my touch, but simply remained wholly relaxed and utterly still, his eyelids fluttering closed like two dark butterflies as I barely caressed his smooth skin.

I beamed his current emotions flooded my consciousness.

"Yes. I would appreciate this opportunity very much," he replied firmly, his voice suddenly without the barest hint of hesitance or doubt. His mind was also steadfast and unwavering in his desire to comply with my suggestion, despite any possible obstacles along the way. "It would allow me the chance to prove to you that there are in fact other ways one can satisfy their thirst, if one labors hard enough," he said boldly.

Images of myself in my usual luxurious attire complete with the Volturi crest, though with golden eyes, and surrounded by circles of happy, uneaten mortals, danced fancifully before my eyes—visions of his futile hopes for a future absent of my favorite form of bloodshed.

_Oh will it now? I think we shall see a rather different outcome instead… _I thought to myself. But despite my disbelieving inner thoughts, I nodded politely—a slow, shallow bob of my head—and a wicked gleam overtook my features.

"Yes… it will be very interesting indeed."

…

A month had passed since my agreement with Carlisle to allow him to experiment, but during this time the duties of enforcing the laws of the vampire world had regrettably consumed the vast majority of my attention. A large coven living in the London sewers had gotten utterly out of control. They were openly terrorizing the citizens by leaving their sloppy remains strewn about, and leaving messages written in human blood which blatantly betrayed the secret of their vampiric nature. The situation was so dire, I had no choice but to leave Carlisle in Volterra with the twelve recent newborns and take with me a large party to ruthlessly exterminate the trespassers of the law.

My guard and I spent the next several weeks tracking down and destroying the coven which had scattered wildly across the continent in response to our sudden arrival, as well as discreetly disposing of any human witnesses we encountered along the way. It had been an arduous process, but with the assistance of Demetri's tracking abilities, and Jane and Alec's debilitating gifts, the coven's foolish attempt to escape our wrath proved ultimately futile. In time justice was duly served to all but three—whom my gift proved to be uninvolved in their companions' recent flagrant disrespect for the most important rule of our existence.

Despite Caius' protests, I spared them. Not only did I despise such wasteful slaughter, but I knew that they would certainly tell any other vampires they encountered during their future travels of the tale of the London coven's destruction, which would serve as an excellent warning to the rest of the vampire world not to cross us, unless one sincerely desired to be brutally ripped apart.

Now that I had returned to Italy from our important excursion, I was eager to see the progress my friend Carlisle had made with the experiment. The gifted humans had only barely awoken as vampires when I was called away, and, due to a few unforeseen complications, it had been nearly a month since I had set foot within the vast fortress. I was confident that nothing had gone seriously wrong, since none of my brothers or sisters whom I had left behind, or the human servants we housed in this castle to manage our affairs with human governments and banks had rushed at me to inform me of any ill news. But nonetheless I wished to determine the results of the experiment thus far, immediately.

I positively loathed the idea of remaining in the dark about the crucial matter for any longer.

Swiftly donning my white lab coat, and quickly ascertaining that the clothes underneath bore no obvious evidence of any recent violence, I rushed to tall spiral stairwell leading into the dungeons beneath the castle. I let my agile feet carry me swiftly down its numerous steps, and bolted into the dank dungeon corridor to meet my friend in our prearranged location. My eyes instantaneously adjusted to the dim torchlight which illuminated the walls, and sought out Carlisle amidst the sizable gathering of cloaked vampires which filled my vision.

A bright white collar and shock of platinum blonde hair stood in stark contrast with the thick sheets of black surrounding him, and a wide, jovial smile overtook my features. The comforting shape instructed the other vampires to move aside to allow him passage, but otherwise retain their posts, and he maneuvered through the cramped hallway to draw closer. Carlisle shyly smiled back at a me as he approached, but his dark golden eyes soon flickered disapprovingly over the fierce black military jacket I wore beneath my lab coat, and especially over the infinitesimal, reddish glint over one of the golden buttons.

Oops. It appeared that I had missed a spot.

Carlisle forced himself to look away, and redirected his focus towards my face.

"So, how is the experiment coming along?" I asked cheerfully as I strode powerfully forward, striking a bold silhouette of black and white against the grimy dungeon brick walls. I gestured to the rows of rooms on either side of us, which currently housed the newborns and the two older vampires who agreed to submit themselves willingly to Carlisle's bizarre ways.

"Not as well as I had hoped," Carlisle admitted slowly. He averted his eyes from my scrutinizing gaze in obvious self-dissatisfaction and gazed instead longingly at the foot-thick, rusted iron doors which sealed away his test subjects, all of which were bolted fiercely shut with several heavy lead beams, and flanked on either side by two cloaked figures to prevent their escape.

My scarlet eyes widened in incredulous curiosity at his succinct confession. And in my sudden impatience to know precisely what in his recent experiences with the vampires under his charge had distressed him, I quickly reached forward and seized one of his idle hands.

Again, Carlisle displayed absolutely no resistance, but rather accepted my touch easily with resigned tranquility. As our fingers gracefully entwined, I watched, bedazzled, as his vivid memories of the past month danced before my inquiring eyes, resounded clearly in my keen ears and washed over my sensitive skin. While I looked over his memories, one frequently reoccurring event stood in stark contrast with the rest. Over and over again, my vision was arrested with images of all fourteen of his test subjects violently spewing out the animal blood he offered them, no matter which native species it had come from, nor the apparent intensity of their own thirst. Carlisle had tested every possible variable in an effort to find something that Athenodora, Carmen and the newborns could swallow. But even as the weeks wore on, and his test subjects began to be less opposed to trying to consume nasty things in their mounting hunger, not a single one was able to choke down more than a few spoonfuls of the foul substance.

"Fascinating," I breathed in awe as I floated back slowly from Carlisle. My long white coat fluttered slightly in response to the tiny movement and as I drifted, I gradually released his hand, severing the physical and mental contact between us. "I understand that they must not appreciate the taste but…" I trailed off in utter disbelief, pressing the tips of my fingers together beneath my chin in deep thought. "That is their only option to satisfy their thirst."

I was astonished that even with no other choice, the vampires under his care would react so negatively to the only fluid which might serve to alleviate some of their pain.

"I know," Carlisle conceded with a grave shake of his head, and wide, sorrowfully shining eyes. "It is distressing."

_Yes, it most certainly was,_ I thought to myself.

"And what do you make of it?" I prodded gently, encouraging Carlisle to speak his pessimistic theories aloud—for they would have far more of a persuasive impact that way.

While I waited for his replay, I strolled slowly towards one of the thick iron doors, and motioned to the guards to remove the thick beams of heavy lead which bolted it shut. Because of the extreme density of the metal which composed the beams, they weighed several tons, and thus required two vampires to grip it on either side to remove it. As the guards worked together to heft away each of the enormous beams blocking the resident newborn's escape, Carlisle frowned miserably in response to my question, before finally parting his lips to speak.

"Perhaps while there is still human blood in their systems… they refuse to accept it," He explained somberly. He decided to watch intently as the cloaked guards carefully moved in synchronous tandem to lower the rectangular beams against the hard stone floor, rather than meet my piercing gaze.

"It is not that the substances are physically incompatible—I have proven for myself that they are not," he rapidly clarified. A flicker of perilous guilt deeply etched his features for few fractions of a second as he mentioned his recent self-trial of human-blood-animal-blood compatibility, before it was summarily replaced with his comparatively mild lamenting expression.

"…but rather it seems without any other sufficient motivation than hunger that they cannot overcome the taste when their hunger is not yet severe enough," Carlisle concluded finally, with a defeated shrug of his lab-coat-clad shoulders. He then gave another grieved shake of his head, clearly upset by the prospect that his initial "adjustment" might have been facilitated in part by his extreme hunger, and that even to this day he relied heavily on his profound willpower and desire to not displease his God. Both factors which none of his test subjects currently possessed.

"Hmm… yes, from your memories I came to a very similar conclusion," I agreed.

I was contented that Carlisle was intelligent enough to acknowledge the setbacks of his methods so quickly, despite his obvious reluctance to accept any faults that could possibly mitigate its appeal. It all made me very curious, for not only was he admitting the downsides of his ways with minimal resistance, in my absence he had also done the one thing he had sworn never to do above all else—he had finally tasted human blood. _What could have possibly changed in the man since I last saw him? Were the results of this experiment really so startling to him that they were effecting him this drastically already?_

I could only hope.

"It is interesting that for the sake of this experiment you decided to drink human blood," I commented, bemused. And although I had not phrased the statement as a question, the pointedly fascinated look I gave Carlisle left no doubt that I was expecting him to answer my subtle query. I was oh so anxious to hear his justification. The memories of the intriguing incident themselves had been clouded with a paradoxical combination of profound shame and intense pleasure, and I wanted to know which emotion was motivating him more strongly at the moment.

"I did not kill to obtain it," he responded all-too-quickly. There was a firm insistence in his voice which suggested that he had initially used the lack of human death to rationalize his indulgence, but had later deeply regretted the decision.

"With her consent, I withdrew a small portion from one of your human servants with a medicinal knife and poured it into a goblet, so that there was no contact with my venom," he explained, drawing his hand across his wrist in an incision-like movement to demonstrate what he had done in order to obtain the delicious substance. He tried to keep his tone and expression as neutral as possible, but he was unsuccessful—his voice came out defensive and ridden with obvious shame.

I was surprised to see Carlisle's tongue unconsciously wet his lips at the delicious memory.

"She still lives to serve you today," he added swiftly, as though her continued existence was meant to—but did not entirely in his mind—justify his decision. Feeling ashamed, he turned his head away again, and watched as the last of the three large beams blocking our entrance was placed against the slimy ground, and the guards pressed their shoulders firmly against the exposed surface, slowly pushing open the heavy iron door.

I gestured for us to enter the room of one of his test subjects which was now open to us.

"Of course, but I was surprised, nonetheless." A delighted, twisted smirk sharply curled the corner of my lips. "You enjoyed the taste quite a lot."

I could tell that my last comment struck far too close to home—as I had intended it to. Carlisle cringed at my casual observance that, despite his moral dissonance on the matter, the wonderful sensation of satisfying his thirst, even to such a small degree with such an infinitesimal portion of human blood, had roused in him such extreme gratification. I knew that it distressed him that something as insignificant in his mind as a delicious taste could have such a overpowering effect on him. But now that he had partaken of the sweet, heavenly substance which put even the most delectable of human delicacies to shame, he could no longer fault me for enjoying it.

"I only drank it because I needed to prove that human blood and animal blood can coexist in our bodies," he remarked defensively, as he rapidly followed me into the dark, chemically odorous chamber.

The heavy iron doors were slammed ominously shut behind us, to prevent the escape of the ravenous creature who had taken up residence here for the past month.

"But I rather wish I hadn't," Carlisle admitted. Guiltily, he fixing his dark gold eyes on his modest black heeled shoes, and the ancient stone floor beneath them. I was frustrated that he felt such cavernous shame towards his own body's vast appreciation for what was, even by his definition, a perfectly rational and utterly sinless act.

Honestly—Carlisle needed to work on his guilt-complex.

"Before I could only imagine what I was missing, but now…" he said with a tone of passionate longing, but trailing off mid-sentence, unable to bring his traitorous vocal chords to articulate the final conclusion.

"…You know exactly what you are denying yourself," I finished for him, giving an understanding smile, which was bordered on the edge between being empathetic, and ecstatic.

"Precisely," Carlisle breathed in exasperated agreement.

I sighed and shook my head. He honestly needn't be so troubled by the simple fact that human blood appealed to him. He had not transgressed any of his moral strictures, and it was not as though he could help his body's positive reaction to the substance. Heaving a loud contented sigh after feeding properly for the first time since his transformation and experiencing the unstoppable rush of heady pleasure that nature rewarded all vampires with when they drank human blood was hardly worth getting this worked up about.

I understood that his small indulgence was but a tease, the tiniest of taste-tests, and that he worried that the exquisite flavor and intoxicating sensation of satiation would seduce him to partake of the whole meal. But I also had learned that Carlisle was not easily tempted. He had been very skilled at managing his natural instincts as a human, a characteristic which had only been enhanced with his transformation, and his abilities as a vampire allowed him to only experience factionary seconds of thirst at a time, which afforded him unmatchable control.

I had no doubts that, even in his currently ravenous state which would drive any other vampire utterly insane, he could drink directly from a human being and stop before he drained them, if he desired it.

It was uncanny.

I drifted over to the bed where a young woman, whose name I recalled to be Vera, lied pitifully against the dingy white sheets, which were stained in erratic, dark splotches with the blood of beasts. Her eerily weak-looking hands clutching desperately at the coarse fabric, and her back arched in excruciating pain. As I approached her slowly, the woman rapidly twisted her head to face me, her eyes a deep burgundy color, and her expression feral and yearning—burning with the vain hope that I have come to save her from her puritanical captor.

"If the issue is not compatibility then, but rather simply a matter of not yet being desperate enough to surpass their instinctual revulsion, what does that mean for the next stages of this experiment?" I asked in purely scientific curiosity.

"Well, I suppose that… if you will allow it… we will have to wait for the residual human blood to leave their tissues before they can bring themselves to accept the blood of beasts," Carlisle said with an equally systematically callous tone. Though the frenzied pleading look which suddenly flashed over Vera's thirsty complexion, caused his impassive mask to crack fractionally.

"But if this prospect is unacceptable to you…" he offered cautiously.

I moved to gradually place my hand over Vera's pale wrist, so that I could see the events of the last month from her perspective. Her traumatic experience of being repeatedly offered only one undrinkable remedy to a confusing, blazing pain filtered over my senses. She had viciously attacked the guards in a desperate attempt to escape several times, only to be easily subdued and returned to this ghastly prison.

"Do not worry yet, Carlisle," I reassured him in my softest, most pleasantly feathery voice. "Although it may not be pleasant for either of us to watch my brothers and sisters suffer, I suggest we continue the experiment regardless, so that we can see if it is indeed possible for any other vampire to eventually come to live in the way which you do."

"You do believe your own suffering was worth the rewards, yes?" I interrogated him with a dubious expression.

"Absolutely," Carlisle replied resolutely, without the slightest hesitance. He squared his broad, white-clad shoulders and looked me directly in the eyes, unafraid of what their inhuman color signified as he at last assumed a confident stance.

"Although the pain was almost unbearable, being able to live without taking human lives… that is such a comfort to me," he said genuinely. A stunning, bright joyfulness glittered in his dark, red-flecked eyes. And he placed a hand over his heart to physically demonstrate the weight that was lifted off his conscience by virtue of living without the spiritual trauma of killing mortals.

"Then should we not continue this experiment, no matter the costs, correct?" I queried, trying to use his own line of reasoning to persuade him to continue.

If we stopped now, the terrible pain I had put Vera and the others through would have been for naught.

Vera choked out a pitiful, dry gasp, in an attempt to protest, but both Carlisle and I apathetically ignored her.

"Yes," he responded firmly, refusing to even glance in the direction of his immortal guinea pig.

Vera was now clawing fiercely at her own throat, and writhing with equal ferocity—somewhat from actual pain, and somewhat from a futile attempt to invoke Carlisle's acute pity. As she thrashed, I slipped my hand away from Vera's tiny wrist, and glided away from her dilapidated bedside.

"Very well," I conceded, with a short nod. "I will be visiting you as often as occasion permits to check up on your progress," I informed him seriously, as I fluidly moved across the ancient stone to make my exit. I motioned for Carlisle to restrain Vera so she wouldn't bolt and knocked gently against the surface of the iron door with the back of my hand, to inform the guards outside that I was ready to leave.

"I will not disappoint you," he promised, calling out to me with a firmly convicted voice.

As the heavyweight doors incrementally parted, Carlisle's nimble fingers clamped tightly around the fiercely struggling woman in his arms. I was impressed that he didn't even flinch as her diamond-hard teeth scraped violently at his arms, rapidly ripping to ribbons the immaculate sleeves of his lab coat and the frilly shirt he wore beneath it. Afraid that she might begin to injure him with her newborn strength—as lessened as it was by here extreme thirst—I directed a few of the guards mulling around in the hallway to help him. Vera snarled and jerked as the cloaked men surrounded her, but with their powerful arms pinning her against the dirty bed she wasn't going anywhere.

Just before I left, I spun on my fancy heeled shoes to give Carlisle a lingering, deeply incredulous look.

"We shall see…"


	12. Chapter 11: Red vs Gold

**AN: So this is sort of chapter 10 part 2. It was way too long to post both together, though, so I decided to post it as a separate chapter. There's so much information to get through-two decades of friendship totally glossed over, and months of observations and research to compile together, but I promise to try and cut to the chase as quickly as possible. **

**Eventually, we will get back to Bella, but for now we've got some important things to learn about "vegetarianism" first.**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: Red vs. Gold**

"It has been four months since we began this experiment. Tell me, dearest Carlisle, how are our dear brothers and sisters doing?" I asked with menacing politeness as we once again convened in the dungeons to discuss the progress of our experiment.

Carlisle sighed heavily. "Not well," he said with profound sadness and a mournful shake of his head. His smoothly combed back hair rustled slightly at the movement. "I have given them every type of animal blood Italy has to offer and… not a single test subject has shown any signs of reduced thirst," he lamented. "All fourteen of them eat up whatever I give them eagerly, despite the taste, but they are irritable, weak, and when they use their powers abundantly, the situation is only aggravated further," he finished with his lips pressed into a firm, compassionately distressed line.

His eyes desperately searched mine to see if I had any clue as to why such unexpected (in his mind) results were manifesting themselves.

I clasped my potent hands together in front of the dimly glittering Volturi crest, which lied against the lacy white cravat hanging from my neck. "Ah yes, I had noticed that," I responded with a gentle sigh."Vera is doing particularly poorly with the drain her miraculous powers have exerted on her," I remarked with obvious, threatening displeasure. I gave Carlisle the coldest of disapproving stares to convey my extreme malcontent with her needlessly continued suffering, causing a nervous gulp to pass through his throat.

"Yes." He looked deeply troubled by the unrelenting agony he had witnessed in her over the past several months. "When you asked her to restore the arm that Caius lost to a Child of the Moon some centuries ago, I did not believe she could do it," he confessed, his momentous shock and awe replaying over his pale features as he recalled the phenomenal incident.

I couldn't agree more_—_that Vera's abilities allowed her to regrow an entire missing appendage from only a jagged stub was a wonder one had to witness to believe.

"Although it seems to have taken quite the toll on her system." He frowned and gestured slowly towards the thick iron door behind which she lied. The sound of wearily scratching fingernails against the inner walls, and guttural, dry-throated howls, penetrated the thick substance due to their exceeding volume. "Whatever nutrients animal blood have… they are apparently not enough to satisfy her while she uses her powers."

_That was the understatement of the century—it was like saying that Caius's lost arm had only been a scratch. _

"And the others?" I asked. I gestured broadly to the rest of the lead-bolted dungeon cells in this ancient, begrimed hallway, with gracefully sweeping, lab-coat-covered arms.

"Athenodora and Carmen are doing relatively well, since they have no powers. And Heinrich is doing alright, since his powers are mental, rather than physical," Carlisle responded with relative optimism, pointing a sallow index finger in the direction of the rooms they were confined in as he mentioned their names. "But the rest have mostly physical gifts, which seem to take a greater toll when combined with… insufficient nutrition," he added with another heavy sigh, and a perplexed shrug of his shoulders.

My eyebrows rose at his subtle, but profound confession. "You admit that it is insufficient, then?" I probed enthusiastically, hoping to compel him to openly acknowledge the glaring pitfalls of his way of living. That way I could more quickly persuade him to abandon his preposterous diet and join me in the hall of human slaughter when the time came.

"For those with physical gifts, at least," he clarified warily upon seeing my disconcertingly excited expression. He held up a hesitant, forbidding hand, to silently reaffirm that his recent discovery, regrettably, did not apply to himself. "I believe that the evidence speaks for itself rather well. And I am not foolish enough to counteract it, even though I do not like it," he explained logically.

Carlisle extended his gentle arm towards me in a silent offering to witness said evidence for myself. He elicited a small gasp as my soft fingers curled tightly around his.

"Yes, it would be foolish to deny what is right before us," I said as I took in his thoughts since our last encounter. After a moment I let go of him and pressed my hands together in front of my chest. I offered Carlisle a knowing glance as to say—_you should not deny that your diet effects you negatively as well._

Carlisle flashed me a dark look, but otherwise ignored my comment and pressed on.

"I still have no idea why my experiences are so profoundly different from theirs. But it is clear to me now that my satisfaction is an anomaly." _Or merely a symptom of your delusion. _I thought to myself, but did not dare voice aloud, for fear that it would entirely destroy Carlisle's vital trust in me.

"The fact that I have a mental gift which I rarely use may account for some of it," he mused aloud, taking his finely chiseled chin between his thumb and forefinger and stroking it slowly.

_Oh no, you use it quite often—constantly, actually, _I countered in my head.

"…but there are still variables that I do not understand," he confessed with a bewildered expression. "Even Carmen, who agreed to try my diet for the same altruistic reasons which drew me to it, struggles in the presence of human blood," he related, his thick blond eyebrows torn between rising on his forehead, and furrowing deeply into the bridge of his nose. "I have no doubts that if I were to release her, she would eagerly kill to consume it," he conceded remorsefully, wincing at the gruesome idea as he spoke. "But I am in much more control. Why?"

I stared, stunned at Carlisle. His eyes were shining with unguarded desperation, and I knew that if I had not expressed such a violent distaste for groveling gestures, that he would be on his knees before me, begging me to impart my ancient wisdom on the matter. Begging me to shed light on this distressing inconsistency he saw between his test subjects and himself.

Seeing his obvious distress, I wanted nothing more than to relate, once again, my discovery of his mental-alteration all those years ago. But we had long since buried that significant topic and built two decades of amicable friendship on the lie that I had been mistaken.

To dredge that up now would destroy everything I had worked for, so instead I simply sheepishly shrugged my shoulders, and said: "I haven't the slightest idea."

...

Upon confirming for myself, through my talent, that animal blood was insufficient to sustain the newborns with physical gifts, I had insisted that they be immediately removed from the experiment. I wanted to be able to utilize their powers without making them sickly and bedridden, as the diet of animal blood rendered them.

Of course, Carlisle had begged me not to do so with large shining eyes, and pathetically adorable pouting lips. And as he through desperately clutched my person, the intensity of the torment I felt in him at the idea of his test subjects marring their souls with the sin of mortal murder, had made it very difficult to resist. But in the end I had refused to budge. I needed those with physical powers, Vera especially, to be at their full strength, or else their induction into the Volturi would have been for naught.

And so today, I had cordially invited the eleven famished vampires in possession of physical powers to dine with myself and the rest of my guard in the throne room. Every single newborn I presented this option to was invariably ecstatic at my announcement that they would be permitted to feed on humans. They were wholly unaffected by Carlisle's numerous attempts to compel them to feel remorse at the prospect of killing mortals—a fact which shocked Carlisle greatly.

Seeing his obvious distress, I had tried to illustrate to him that the test subject's reaction was only natural. But the unintended insinuation that his continued turmoil over the subject of mortal demise was _unnatural_ had led him to leave the room in an angry huff. His white lab coat had swirled wrathfully around him, and when he reached the end of the hallway he had slammed the plain wooden door to his chambers so hard against the inner frame that it was reduced to splinters.

I had not spoken to him since then, and although only and hour had passed, I was already dedicatedly contemplating how to shape my apology. I was eager to preserve the profound friendship we had developed in the decade we had resided together in this fortress, and horribly upset by the idea that Carlisle might once again suppose ill of me because of a single moment of tactlessness.

It would not do well to approach him now, however, for I had only just barely finished my meal. The scent of death was still fresh in the luxurious fibers of my clothes. My lips were stained a brilliant red. And my cheeks were heavily flushed with the evidence of my recent feeding—all of which would only add to Carlisle's vexing sorrow.

I moved quickly into the dimly lit corridor beyond the hidden door to the throne room and began to make my way towards my chambers in order to prepare a bath to rid myself of the unfriendly (to Carlisle, at least) scent which clung to my skin. However, it seemed that the fates had decided that my own reluctance to approach Carlisle in this state were utterly irrelevant. For I nearly bumped directly into him as I glided down an otherwise empty corridor, and halted abruptly in my tracks.

Carlisle was sitting forlornly on the stone floor several feet away, with his lean back flush against a cool sienna wall. His elbows were resting limply atop his knees, and his head was buried morosely in his hands. Clearly, he was deeply emotionally wounded by some unnamed tragedy. Slowly retreating into the shadows so as to not disturb him, I watched helplessly as his chest and shoulders shook violently, a strangled moan escaping his lips. I restrained the nigh-irresistible urge to rush to his side because I was absolutely certain that had he been human, he would have been sobbing, and I was equally certain that a great portion of the blame for his grief lied at my feet.

I made to quickly disappear from Carlisle's presence down one of the long hallways opposite from where he sat. But as I floated over the large stones, he was alerted to my presence by the barest rustle of my frilly sleeves. And to my utter dismay, Carlisle suddenly lifted his head out of his hands, and his glittering golden eyes bore directly into mine.

I was abruptly brought to a jarring stop as I realized that to scurry away from him now, when he knew I was here, would be unforgivably rude. His eyes flickered worriedly over me as I stood frozen mid-step, briefly registering the telltale signs of my freshly satisfied thirst, and my deeply concerned expression. An emotion akin to fear was written over his features before it was replaced with a small, resignedly sad frown. He breathed out a loud sigh, a pitiful sound like angel's wings breaking, and struggled to school his quivering lower lip into an impassive line.

He suddenly ruptured the delicate silence between us by swallowing and choking out: "Are they... are they doing well? Vera, is she—"

Carlisle's inquiry after his former test subjects' health, whilst trying to avoid mentioning specifically what had restored it was positively torturous to watch, so I interrupted hastily. "Yes. They have recovered their strength and are in exceptional condition. You need not worry for them any longer."

I offered him an empathetic look as I clasped my hands in front of myself, and drifted marginally closer to where my profoundly troubled friend sat. He looked spiritually-crushed, like he was inwardly weeping over what he supposed to be the irrevocable loss of eleven souls, as they had eagerly partaken of their first serving of human blood. Carlisle said nothing in response to my effort at consolation. Instead he turned away from my gaze and looked despairingly heavenward, as if to ask the higher powers of the universe why they would be so cruel to create a species who required the blood of human beings to survive.

It was a good question, one I had pondered many times myself. But I sensed that Carlisle's explanations for this great mystery would be far less hopeful than mine. I wanted ever so much to rescue him from his currently perturbingly pessimistic line of thinking.

"Carlisle, please do not despair," I beseeched him gently. "You said yourself that animal blood was insufficient for those with physical gifts."

"I know... and I _am_ glad to see that they are doing better, but..." he trailed off, unable to vocally label the source of his misery. He twisted his neck slowly to gaze dejectedly at the floor.

"It still troubles you," I observed softly.

I gliding a few more steps forward and slowly eased onto my knees, so that I would not be towering over my friend as I attempted to offer him some meager portion of solace. This action momentarily caused Carlisle's eyes to widen in disbelief that I, Aro of the Volturi would kneel in front of anyone for any reason, before his momentous grief overwhelmed him once again.

"Yes," he sighed heavily, looking for all the world like he had endured the crippling loss of his own children but a few minutes before. "I feel like the deaths at their hands are my fault," he confessed. He interlocked his trembling hands over his knees, and rested his finely sculpted chin against them with a self-loathing frown.

My face contorted with a wildly puzzled expression. "How so?"

"I feel as though I have failed them, failed to save them from their thirst, failed to save their souls," he explained gloomily. He spread a hand across his chest to demonstrate the personal injury this trail of thought inflicted on him. "I know that you do not agree with my line of reasoning, theologically. But I feel like my inadequacies in helping them adjust to my methods make me responsible for what they have done since their release."

It was true that I believed he was mistaken in supposing that we were damned when we consciously chose to kill humans to eat. But even according to his own moral outlook, he had done nothing _personally_ to lay the blame for their feeding upon his head. Dear me, would he ever stop beating himself up over nothing?

"Carlisle, their decision to drink human blood is their own," I said somewhat firmly. I set a comforting, but also subtly chastising hand on his quaking shoulder, in an attempt to quell his unnecessary self-flagellation over the matter. "You should not blame yourself for what is ultimately their choice," I declared finally.

I decided to hazard the risk of upsetting him further in order to peer meaningfully with my crimson gaze into the younger vampire's glistening golden eyes. I hoped that he understood I was utilizing my eyes to convey emotion in this instance, and not to insensitively shove in his face the discrepancy between our opinions towards consuming mortals. Thankfully, Carlisle appeared to understand that my purposeful initiation of eye-contact was not meant to be confrontational, and showed no signs of being alarmed by my irises' bloody color.

"I know," he exhaled. He looked emotionally exhausted, and was clearly frustrated with himself. "But you know how I feel... what they have lost... forever..." he spoke barely more than a whisper. His right hand fleetingly reached into the distance and then fell at his side, as if to indicate a desirable fate for his former test subjects was now eternally beyond their reach.

A tiny frown managed to curl under the corners of my lips.

I did know how he felt. But I also did not like the direction this conversation was going.

"Perhaps not..." I expressed optimistically with a blinding smile, aspiring to lighten the dreary mood which had settled thickly over us in this otherwise vacant, dim stone hallway. "Do you really suppose that their maker would condemn them for consuming what that same maker designed them to consume? It is not as though lions are under condemnation simply because they were created as carnivores," I proposed rationally.

Carlisle sighed and steadfastly shook his head, his short, coarse locks rustling slightly at the motion. "No matter how logical that argument is... I do not make the rules, Aro. I simply try my best to abide by them," he explained sadly. It was clear that Carlisle felt that there was something cosmic which defined moral right and wrong, and it was not his prerogative to change it.

"'Thou shalt not murder' is fairly straightforward," he finished caustically. He sent me an accusatory glare, to clarify that I was under condemnation in his eyes as the word _murder_ rolled off his unexpectedly barbed tongue.

I was somewhat taken aback by his uncharacteristically harsh indictment. But being a fiercly competitive man, and unwilling to let Carlisle have the last say in this matter, I was about to offer my rebuttal when Carlisle interrupted:"And I know that you define murder differently than I," he said before I had the chance to counteract him. "I know that you do not see killing for food to be in the same category as killing wastefully out of greed, corruption or hate. But I see no difference," he harshly denied. "So many deaths... for what?" he demanded to know. His voice cracked with a desperate emotion. "A pleasant taste and marginally improved strength?" he spat in bewildered disdain.

"The differences in our strengths are hardly marginal..." I countered, giving my friend's tense shoulder a soothing squeeze. I was particularly careful to ensure that my quietly chiding tone was laced with nothing but the uttermost politeness and delicacy, as it appeared that today Carlisle was particularly volatile and I was not foolish enough to prod him into eruption. "Jane wiped the floor with you... with one arm," I reminded him in my softest, heavenliest voice, despite the brutal ferocity of the event I was mentioning. "And she did not even have to resort to using her gift."

Carlisle grimaced at the unpleasant memory of their extremely brief sparring.

"Although she may be immortal, she is barely thirteen, Carlisle," I added, deeply concerned by the jarring unnaturalness of such a thing. I raised a challenging eyebrow to silently request an immediate explanation as to why this was so. "Thirteen-year-old little girls should not be able to physically best adult men."

"I know, Aro. I know," he granted exasperatedly, raising two hands, palms outward, in a defensive gesture to allay my relentless verbal assault. "I simply do not understand it yet. But I will get to the bottom of this discrepancy of strength, I swear it," he promised sincerely, his figure straitening with resolve.

A delighted smile spread over my pale lips. "Good. See that you do."

I rose gradually in a rippling wave of ruffles and buttons to my feet and turned to stroll away from him, content with the knowledge that he understood his methods' shortcomings well enough. I was also uncomfortable lingering in his presence any longer when I was still so obviously covered in what Carlisle considered to be the testaments of my damnation.

"Until we next meet, I will be in my chambers if you require anything," I offered magnanimously. I said this with my back to him so that I would not have to witness his displeasure. I had always left open to Carlisle the option of satisfying his thirst through traditional means if he were to ever simply ask, and I figured my vague insinuation to it now would upset him.

"Of course," I heard him acknowledge weakly, before I swept off into the distance.

…

At our next scheduled meeting in the dungeons some months later, we convened in Heinrich's room. While we conversed about how the experiment was coming along, Heinrich sat placidly upon his bed, wholly absorbed in the task of reading from a large tome which Carlisle must have fetched for him. It was a lengthy compilation of vampire-related mythology written in his native tongue of German, which was apparently quite riveting, since his eyes never left the old yellow pages.

Once I was assured that Heinrich would not interrupt us, I finally asked the question I had been itching to ask ever since we began this experiment: "Carlisle, you have been observing the differences between my guard and the test subjects for over a year. Have you discovered why those who drink animals have such a different color of eyes?" I enquired, utterly puzzled by the unsolved conundrum.

"I cannot say for certain what is going on. But as I was studying them I did come up with one theory…" he explained. His calculating gaze flickered briefly over to Heinrich's golden eyes, which were tracing the bold, inked glyphs on the parchment in front of him intently with wide-lidded fascination.

"Let's hear it," I encouraged eagerly, gesturing for him to continue.

"Do you know what color human blood is when it is fresh from the vein, healthy and alive?" He asked, and I was somewhat taken aback by the inquiry—_what did he think I was, stupid? I was a vampire for crying out loud, of course I knew what color human blood was! _

"Red, of course," I responded, looking at my usually quite intelligent friend out of the comer of my eyes with an incredulous frown. "Or are you looking for a more in depth description of the hue? I see the color on a regular basis, you know," I reminded him with a devilish smirk.

Carlisle ignored my obvious glee in regards to the subject of my preferred method of feeding and continued in his baffling interrogation. "And are not your eyes the same color when you feed?" he questioned further—stupefying me with his utterly impassive reference to my habitual massacre of mortal.

His voice was absolutely steady, matter-of-fact, and betrayed none of his deep internal turmoil over the subject. I was so impressed by his unprecedented display of emotional restraint that it took me awhile to digest his words, and consider his train of thought.

… _Interesting…_ I mused.

"…Yes..." I answered slowly with an astonished expression—_was he suggesting what I thought he was?_

"So might we suppose that your eyes are revealing what is in your system?" he responded rationally, directing a hand indicatively in the general direction of my scarlet irises, and another towards Heinrich, who paid us no mind. The German vampire's golden eyes switched back and forth rapidly over the yellowing pages in his hands.

I folded my hands contemplatively in front of my body, and drifted gradually closer to Heinrich's decrepit bedside. As I slid gracefully over the large stones beneath my heeled shoes in a wide arch, I kept my eyes focused on Carlisle the entire time.

"I suppose we can make that conclusion, yes," I replied hesitantly. "My eyes are bright red right after a good meal. But then as time passes the blood is used up, and my eyes are left vacant—black," I related with an impassive tone. Though inwardly I was positively burning inside to know where Carlisle was going with all of his elementary questions.

"…Right, so then… why are my eyes and his eyes yellow? Is not animal blood red as well?" Carlisle asked rhetorically, mimicking my utterly puzzled expression while pointing with two deft fingers to his own eyes, and the directing those same pallid digits towards Heinrich's.

I blinked a few times to convey my surprise. "…That was why I asked you. I do not understand it."

Carlisle calmly strode over to the opposite side of Heinrich's bed and picked up an ornate silver tray. Atop it sat two small glass beakers firmly stoppered with corks, which were filled with two different, wholly unidentified substances of varying viscosity. Without a word of explanation, Carlisle began walking back towards me with the curious liquids in hand.

As he drew closer I noticed that one of the small glass containers was filled with a watery, pale yellow substance, which—thanks to Carlisle's tight seal on the container—emitted only a faint, unfamiliar odor. The other contained was filled with a comparatively viscous, dark red liquid. It only released the barest fragrance through the thick glass, but which I immediately recognized the scent as human blood.

Recalling the neglected presence of an underfed, year-old vampire in the room, I quickly shot a wary glance at Heinrich. I worried that he was going to lunge madly at the paltry portion of sustenance being carried only a few feet away from him on a silver platter. But I was utterly dumbfounded to discover that the lanky, dark-haired vampire, remained ramrod still in his cross-legged reading position. His eyes, which anxiously switch-backed over the bold foreign lettering did not even flicker in Carlisle's direction, as my friend's white, ankle-length coat billowed silently past Heinrich's bedside.

It was astonishing. For, although the scent which managed to escape the tight container was extremely faint, I had expected the mere presence of human blood in his chamber to drive him mad with hunger.

Apparently not.

Carlisle _did_ say Heinrich was doing quite well. But through my gift I knew that though it was quite dulled, Heinrich's thirst was not wholly satisfied. _How is he resisting it then?_ I wondered to myself. _Is he simply too absorbed in his reading to notice_? _I highly doubt it—I know of no novel that is, or ever has been in print which is thoroughly fascinating enough to distract a hungry vampire from their own nagging bloodthirst._ _It must be something else._

Suddenly I was stricken with an epiphany.

Carlisle thought that perhaps Heinrich's better "adjustment" to the unhealthy diet was a result of his mental abilities, since using mental abilities took less of a physical toll on the body. But there was also the fact that Heinrich's ability was the unique power of mental disorientation (an ability which allowed him to make those he targeted in close proximity to be unable to focus on their tasks). And a power like that could definitely be used on himself, to cause his body to be unable to concentrate on his thirst. It struck me as horribly ironic that Heinrich's apparent control could also be the result of using his gift on himself, and I wondered if Carlisle had considered the possibility… I was given no more time to contemplate this however, for Carlisle unexpectedly held out the silver tray in front of me.

"Blood does turn yellow sometimes…" Carlisle started to say suddenly. He paused to secure his dexterous fingers around the container filled with the slightly smelly, pale yellow liquid, lifted it and slowly placed it in my hands so that I could view it more closely. "…when it breaks apart, and decomposes into waste products," he finished explaining in an encyclopedic tone. He gave a demonstrative glance towards the stoppered glass in my hands which indicated that the perplexing liquid I now held was the decomposed blood of which he spoke.

"Waste products?" I asked bewilderedly, unsure in my time-induced unfamiliarity with the human body as to what he referred.

"Ah yes, that is urine, or piss, if you prefer," He explained politely with a gentle smile.

I quickly handed the container back to him, no longer interested in being in such close proximity with such a gross substance. "Ah… I see."

Carlisle gradually settled the container of human waste against the silver platter once more, seemingly oblivious to my extreme disgust with having touched, however indirectly, such a thing. The clear glass clinked against the shiny metal surface.

"Urine's characteristic color is caused by the broken down proteins of dead blood," Carlisle continued in his scientific explanation. "And with it's similarity in color to my own eyes, and because of some of the unsatisfactory results we've seen in my test subjects, I began to wonder if perhaps that is what we are seeing—decomposing blood—rather than healthy red blood," he finished logically.

It stunned me that Carlisle had come to such a conclusion.

It made perfect sense, and yet, it also cast an obviously disparaging light on his precious diet, which I had not expected. I had rather assumed that he would attempt to rationalize the varying color in his eyes as a good sign, not as an indication of poor health. And yet, perhaps I should not have presumed that—for while Carlisle often personally neglected to place his "blessings" under scrutiny, he was not one to dispute what lied right before his eyes. And for that reason, I was delighted to inwardly assert that this experiment had been an excellent idea.

"Fascinating…" I breathed. I was wholeheartedly convinced that Carlisle was correct in his hypothesis, and delighted that his own keen observations might make persuading him to switch food sources very easy.

Carlisle calmly took the ornate tray in his hands back over the bedside table and set it down. He returned to my side immediately.

"The only flaw I see with that theory, is that I cannot fathom _why_ animal blood would decompose in the system like that before it is used up by the body," he related, clearly frustrated that the evidence was running afoul of his previous assumptions.

"It is clear that their bodies are not synthesizing the animal blood properly," he went on. "Instead of keeping it alive and healthy, as the system does with human blood, their bodies are breaking the animal blood down very rapidly—causing the yellow color. The breakdown also is causing their eyes to blacken completely within a week or two, whereas yours take at least a month and half, if not two months before your eyes even darken a shade after you had fed," he explained lamentingly.

His intellectual mind determined to accept the facts as they were, no matter how unpleasant, which pleased me. But I could tell that the notion that abstinence from human blood was detrimental to himself and his test subjects was wearing heavily on his soul.

"What I do not understand is the reason for the symptoms I have seen. Why should human blood be any better for the body than animal blood? Are they not fundamentally the same? Aside from taste?" He asked in horribly mystified desperation.

I lifted two hands with palms outward to signify that he should not hastily jump to conclusions about any possible deeper similarity between the two substances than outward appearance. Animal blood and human blood might both be red, viscous liquids which carried oxygen and nutrients, but I sincerely doubted that there was much alike about them beyond that.

"My instinct would be to say that is not so," I countered. "The physical symptoms, say that much at least."

Judging by his fiercely skeptical expression, and his firmly crossed arms, Carlisle seemed wholly unconvinced, so I decided to elaborate.

"Compared to my guard, the test subjects are very weak, easily bested in terms of strength and endurance even by the least muscular members. Certainly animal blood gives our subjects enough strength to easily surpass a human, so long as they use their powers infrequently. But they would be utterly useless in a battle against other vampires," I announced truthfully.

Carlisle grimaced as he no doubt imagined the inevitable grisly outcome if he were foolish enough engage in serious combat with any of the other immortals in this fortress.

"The thirst also makes them irritable and prone to rapid mood swings," I continued before he could interrupt me. I was resolutely determined to drive home the point that his ways were harmful, not just to himself, but also to the others. "The slightest sound will send their eyes frantically searching the room, and the scent of human blood renders them utterly incapable of rational thought. Also, their hair has stopped growing, and become brittle—whereas those who drink human blood have hair which continues to grow, albeit slowly, and is smooth and strong."

Carlisle frowned deeply at my accurate observations. He turned his gaze pointedly towards the chipped flagstone beneath his feet, unwilling to look me in the eyes and be reminded, by their vibrant crimson hue, of the increased might I possessed. I sensed that he envied my strength, but would not pursue it when came at the lofty cost of human sacrifice.

"...Yes, all of those things are is true..." Carlisle conceded hesitantly.

The room feel painfully silent as Carlisle wallowed in disconcerted self-pity. He ran a nervous hand through his coarse, short hair, and sighed in utter defeat, with a slow troubled and bewildered shake of his head. "...but I simply do not understand it."

Suddenly, I remembered something. An important facet of information about vampiric thirst which I had, thanks to Carlisle's stubborn insistence that the blood of beasts was substantially equivalent, hitherto perceived to be irrelevant

"Hmmm. I have a theory for why animal blood is insufficient," I mused aloud.

Carlisle perked up, excited by the prospect of getting to the bottom of this vexing mystery, despite the fact that both of us knew that what I was going to say was likely to devastate him. "You do?" he exclaimed.

"Although I do not know what _particular_ components animal blood is lacking, I do know that the blood which gives a vampire their greatest strength is the blood they possessed as humans," I offered matter-of-factly.

"And how do you know this?" Carlisle enquired skeptically.

"Newborn vampires still possess their human blood in their tissues—and when they are fed properly," I added, to explain why Carlisle had not experienced this incredible rush of strength, for his self-starvation had rapidly sapped it all away. "...they are at the strongest beings on earth for the few months it lingers in their bodies."

Carlisle blinked and leaned back marginally in shock. "Truly?"

"Yes. Although I can easily outsmart them in battle, in terms of pure strength, they could easily overwhelm me," I confessed, unashamedly honest about my relative inferior physical capacity. While it certainly was a disadvantage, newborns and I were not so unevenly matched as Carlisle and I were. With tact and subterfuge, I stood a sporting chance: Carlisle did not.

"But this state is temporary—eventually their human blood is used up, and they lose this strength, correct?" Carlisle questioned to make sure he was understanding my statements accurately, a hint of sadness for the inescapable loss bleeding through his cool, encyclopedic mask.

"Unfortunately, yes. But that strength can be restored for a time…" I began.

Carlisle summarily cut me off. "How?"

"There are some who possess blood which is… shall we say, written in a similar fashion to the blood we had as humans. Like a variation on the same tune, it is slightly different, but _oh so close," _I started to explain. It was difficult to find human words which could accurately capture the essence of what it was like to drink the blood of _il proprio cantante._

_"_We call those who possess this blood, _cantanti_ or 'singers', because their blood seems to call to us, to sing to us an irresistible song like the sirens of ancient Greece," I went on. "The scent alone can drive even the most well-fed of vampires into insanity. And to taste the blood of a singer is like drinking pure ambrosia—the most delectable taste in the entire universe," I finished, licking my lips and gazing heavenward with a delighted sigh.

Carlisle looked incredibly disturbed by my rapturous account. But he swallowed and quickly shook off his mounting disgust before timidly enquiring: "…How often do you find… those with blood that sings to you?"

I heaved another deep sigh, this one sorrowful, rather than satisfied. "Regrettably, it varies from vampire to vampire. I suppose some types of blood are more common than others. Demetri seems to find one who sings to him every other year. And I have felt the pleasure many times through my gift. But I have never had the privilege myself," I expressed with passionate grief, deeply crushed by the unfairness of this world which prevented me from ever having experienced that great pleasure firsthand.

Two delicate blonde eyebrows nearly lifted off of his forehead. "Never? But you are…"

"Yes, I am aware that I am ancient," I dismissed his obvious deduction with a slight scowl. "But even in my three thousand years of existence, I have not found a single one whose blood has appealed to me in that manner. I am beginning to think that whatever sort of blood I possessed as a human is now extinct," I lamented. I reached out my arms and grasped longingly at the air before me, before slowly loosening my fists, and dropping my hands resignedly at my sides, visually expressing how I felt that such a great experience, by some cruel twist of fate, was likely forever beyond my reach.

Carlisle heartlessly ignored my bereavement. "You said this blood—the blood of 'singers'—is… enticing. Do you have any idea why?" he asked, evidently confused that some human blood exerted a greater pull than others. In his mind he still clung to the mortal, inaccurate assumption of the time, that all blood was fundementally the same.

"Do you presume our bodies to invent these urges randomly?" I demanded disbelievingly—_certainly Carlisle did not suppose that our bloodthirst was simply a curse designed to mock and torment us. Certainly he understood that it was our body's way of letting us know what we needed to survive, much as human hunger and thirst was to their bodies, right?_ The idea that our instincts in regards to satisfying our thirst were ultimately meaningless went against all logic.

"The blood of _cantanti, _which smells and tastes the most exquisite, gives us the most strength. Human blood which smells and tastes delicious, but does not sing to us gives us acceptable strength. Human blood which is less appealing than even that, gives us lesser strength," I illustrated definitively, hoping that Carlisle would catch the crucial pattern painfully evident in my statements.

A wide smile split across my face as Carlisle's eyes widened in realization. "Then animal blood…"

"Yes. Animal blood smells and tastes disgusting, so logically it follows that it gives us barely any strength. Is that not what we have observed?"

"But why must this be so?" Carlisle cried out in despair. He looked down at his body with a look of determination, exerting all of his willpower against the irrefutable laws of the universe, as if he planned to radically change his very physiology simply by force of thought.

"Our bodies were originally human bodies, Carlisle—human bodies designed to accommodate a very specific type of human blood. In our immortality, they have been adapted to be able to consume a wider variety. But that still does not change the fact that they are still, in some respects, human," I affirmed, gesturing to myself. I hoped it would remind him of our physical dissimilarity with beasts; that despite our often animalistic instincts, vampires still had a rather humanesque form. "Animal blood is wholly incompatible with the design of our system."

The room fell into a heavy, stale silence after my unwavering declaration of fact.

Carlisle said nothing for a very long time, and for the barest moment I was almost convinced that he had not heard me. Though the perplexing variety of emotions washing over his face one after another as he ferociously struggled to process what all the information we had shared today eliminated that possibility.

I could tell that he was clearly morally distressed by the implications the experiment had presented. Paradoxically he was also thrilled that his scientific questions about the differences between the two diets had been answered, and that left mentally torn over what he should do in response to his recently acquired knowledge.

All of this, of course was to be expected.

What was rather unforeseen, however, was that he would spend such a lengthy duration of time in this troubled state of tossing emotional turmoil. Carlisle stood fiercely still with his pale hands clasped nervously beneath his chin, and stared intently at the slimy dungeon walls for at least half a hour without so much as a touch or a word to make me privy to his thoughts. I did not wish to rush him in these crucial minutes, for this internal struggle was what all these many months of experimentation had been leading up to. But as the soundless-ness wore on painfully between us, I began to fear that Carlisle would remain dumbstruck over this eternally.

But as soon as I parted my lips to speak, at last he broke the silence.

"…You make a very compelling case, Aro," he breathed in awe. His stupefaction and terror over my daunting revelation paralyzed him for a moment, before these feelings were swiftly overcome with a placid acceptance of the truth.

"I had hoped that this experiment would be an opportunity for me to persuade you to change your ways," Carlisle admitted with a rueful smile. "But with the outcomes we have seen, it seems I was mistaken."

My eyebrows threatened to distend from my face at his remarkably easy admission, and my eyes continued to swell wider as he went on. "Animal blood has made both me and the test subjects very weak—and I realize now that is something that needs to be rectified as soon as possible," he declared adamantly. There was a rigid confidence in his shoulders and his complexion shined with mirth while he called to the guards on the other side of the thick iron door to allow our departure from the room.

I positively beamed—he was _finally_ going to be swayed, and better than that, he was anxious to resolve his unsatisfied thirst "as soon as possible!" It was so astounding that we had come to this point so suddenly that I wanted to kiss him. But I coolly reigned in the silly impulse, as it would likely be highly unappreciated.

As Carlisle stood, tapping his heeled shoes impatiently against the grimy stone beneath our feet as he waited for the guards to lift the beams to permit his escape, he suddenly spun towards me. His white lab coat swirled dramatically as he twirled in a sharp circle, and his determined golden eyes burned with unprecedented enthusiasm. I sucked in an excited breath as he searched out my face for acceptance—_was he really so eager to at last give in to his natural desires?_

This was most certainly quicker than I had supposed, but I was not complaining. If it was his desire, I would fetch him someone to feed from at once, whether to consume whole, or to draw off a portion of their blood, it mattered not to me—the idea that Carlisle might desire to drink human blood at all, for any other reason than scientific curiosity, was thrilling enough.

When I was just about to perish from anticipation, Carlisle finally opened his mouth, undoubtably to speak the words I had been itching to hear roll forth from his tongue. "…We must begin at once on creating a substitute," he requested eagerly.

I offered my most dazzling smile. "Yes of co—wait, _what?_" I demanded perplexedly, as I suddenly realized that he had said something rather different than I had imagined.

_That was not what I was hoping to hear._


	13. Chapter 12: Evidence of Starvation

**AN: When I found out that broken down blood is the reason why our human waste products have their color, it was just the perfect explanation for Carlisle's golden eyes: I almost couldn't believe it. It's almost like animal-blood incompatibility is already canon. Blowing my mind.**

**Sidenote: I just realized that according to book-canon Carlisle is 6' 2" and Aro is more like 5' 10"ish because average heights were shorter back then, so yeah, he's shorter than Carlisle... which makes him no less imposing, but is something to keep in mind. :)**

**Also be sure to check out my deviantart and youtube accounts: (I go by the same name on both sites and there are links in my author's description). I've got plenty of Luxury of Mercy artwork and videos to share with you guys. Some of my twilight videos are not strictly related to this story, but those that are will have "The Luxury of Mercy" in the title. **

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: Evidence of Starvation **

"Carlisle, certainly the evidence convinces you that drinking animal blood is unhealthy!" I bellowed loudly in empathetic rage.

I felt passionately dismayed that my dear friend was intent on embarking on what I was certain would be a futile quest to create an artificial alternative, rather than simply accepting that which nature already perfectly supplied. Yes, his recently-declared mission was a noble one. But I highly doubted that any combination of herbs and chemicals could ever fully replicate all the vital, subtle nuances in human blood. And thus I was absolutely sure that all his attempts would only be a complete waste of time, frustration and resources.

Carlisle exhaled loudly, and coolly reigned in the wrathful impulses instinctually ignited by my confrontational tone. He lifted his hands slowly in a peacemaking gesture. "Yes, it is quite ineffective in dispelling thirst, and providing full-strength. I see that now."

Carlisle swept his arm forward in a beckoning motion, to indicate that he wished for me to follow him, as he began to gradually ascend the stone steps leading out of the dungeons. He held a tattered, stained, leather-bound journal filled with his notes from the experiment tucked carefully under one arm. I hesitantly trailed after him up the tall, spiral stairwell, interested to see where he was leading me.

"But that does not change the fact that I refuse to kill humans," he insisted somewhat sharply through clenched teeth that were shining ever so slightly with venom. He repressed the growl bubbling in his throat. "I am willing to pay the price, no matter how costly, to abstain from ending human life."

"And the others?" I enquired sourly.

I was bitterly opposed to the idea of allowing the three who remained under his care, to be treated like prisoners any longer. Heinrich may have merely been transformed as a curiosity, since his gift was not particularly useful, and would probably prove more irksome to keep around than it was worth. But Carmen was Eleazar's mate, and Athenodora was Caius'. And although Eleazar and Caius had respected their wives' decisions to submit to this wacky experiment initially, they were growing increasingly furious that their beloved wives had not been returned to them for over a year. And I hated to disappoint two members of the Volturi who were so powerful.

The only reason the two commanding men had not stormed into the dungeons and forcibly removed their wives from incarceration themselves, was because of the crucial influence of Chelsea's gift. But even that would fail to restrain them once their wrath with me became strong enough, and I had absolutely no desire to wait long enough to witness such a terrible calamity.

Carlisle sighed. "The others may be released if they wish," he granted somewhat reluctantly, pursing his lips in mild displeasure. "But I will continue to dine on animal blood until I am able to produce a suitable substitute," he affirmed solidly, as we rose quickly over the steep slabs of stone beneath our feet.

A deep frown twisted the corners of my lips downwards, but otherwise I relaxed and shook away the last lingering vestiges of anger—_at least he will listen to reason well enough to only inflict his suffering upon himself_ I thought. I was relieved that his compassionate nature would not allow him to persist when the health of others was in serious jeopardy.

But that alone was hardly consoling.

Surely, it would be refreshing to release Heinrich, Carmen and Athenodora from their prolonged torture. But I also deeply desired to see Carlisle at full strength, even if I had grudgingly become somewhat fond of his gracious sensitivity towards human life, and his bright golden eyes. He was still teetering dangerously on the brink of starvation, even though he managed to hide it well. But what dumfounded me is that he now knew this—he had admitted to it only a few moments ago—but was obdurately persisting anyway, even in light of the perilous risks of doing so.

I had always surmised that once he confessed, from the undeniable evidence, that his ways were unhealthy, convincing him to switch diets would follow effortlessly. I had never imagined that he would be so stubborn in his revulsion to kill as to accept perpetual self-harm over the occasional slaughtering of others. Of course, as I considered it now, it made perfect sense—Carlisle was always selfless to a fault, and this was simply another mortifying manifestation of it.

Sometimes in moments like these, I fleetingly wished that Carlisle were fractionally less of saint. It would be so much easier to sway him to care for himself properly if his compunctions against mortal "murder" were more flexible. But I always ended up chastising myself for desiring such a thing. Carlisle wouldn't be Carlisle without his sainthood. And despite the havoc it wrecked on my emotional well-being as I was constantly worrying for him, it was an integral piece of his personality which I greatly cherished.

No… my true desire was not to strip Carlisle of his morals or his religion, but to simply help him reconcile his faith with his food. And although I would much prefer him to feed with me in the orthodox manner, in my unbearable desperation to end his pain after decades of patiently waiting for this moment, I was willing to do everything within my power to accommodate him and his reservations.

Of course, maintaining the secrecy of vampirekind was my first and foremost priority, so my options were limited.

But I wanted to try.

I cared for him enough that I was willing to endure more discomfort in order to please him than I would for almost any other.

I lowered my voice to a calm, feathery, almost-whisper. "…You needn't kill humans to partake of their blood. You did it once before," I reminded Carlisle softly, as I hastily climbed after him. As he turned to face me, I gave him a hopeful look which I hoped might at least persuade him to consume proper sustenance.

"That is true," he acknowledged. "But there are hardly enough servants in this castle who know of our existence to sustain me over the long-term," he countered as we finally reached the summit of the stairwell. He gestured toward the empty, bright castle walls around us to hint at the fact that I only kept a minimal number of knowledgeable humans within their ancient confines. "…unless you are willing to recruit more for my sake?"

I frowned slightly and rapidly strode in front of him, tired of speaking to the back of his pristine white lab coat, instead of directly to his face. After glancing around the vacant, musky hallway with a neutral expression, I inwardly processed that Carlisle was, unfortunately, correct in this instance. Large groups of humans were difficult to predict and control. And I had never needed more than a handful in-the-know to take care of our legal affairs with the outside world, so the number of humans in this fortress who might become a liability rarely exceeded ten.

But in order to feed from humans without killing, Carlisle probably wanted to play it safe and allow long periods of time between feedings. And that would necessitate far more informed humans than I was comfortable housing—twenty or thirty at the least. Not to mention that the number would need to stay relatively constant, instead of fluctuating as it normally did, because a few sudden losses would leave him starving again.

If the humans could remain oblivious to the secret of our existence, this might not be an issue. I would merely keep them holed away in one of the furthest wings of the castle and keep them busy with menial tasks, such as doing our laundry, and prevent them from ever hearing or seeing anything too suspicious. But if they were to feed Carlisle, they would absolutely need to be in the know. I really could not fathom a suitable excuse that could be made for why my friend would be regularly extracting and drinking their blood.

Which of course, presented an enormous problem: When groups of humans that large were aware of our existence, their numbers began to give them a growing sense of solidarity and together they start thinking the dangerous idea that they could, perhaps oppose us, if they were to rally together their tenacity and talents. And I really did not fancy the prospect of watching my laundry maids betray us to their mortal fellows and consequently launch an all-out assault against vampirekind.

While it was true that the initial chaos was unlikely to prove lethal to my guard and I, I was much more worried about what might follow.

Thanks to human advancements, the world was becoming increasingly interconnected, and I feared that soon it would be far too late to merely slaughter a villageful of witnesses, and pretend that our exposure to the outside world never happened. News traveled too fast these days, and once all of humanity knew of our reality, they would tirelessly work to create some infernal device capable of destroying us. And having experienced many lifetimes of human fears and ambitions myself, I had no doubts, that they would achieve it eventually. Other vampires might underestimate humankind, and think them incapable of such a thing, but I knew better.

That was part of the reason I had created the Volturi in the first place.

And since my whole existence was dedicated to making sure that such a thing did not happen, lamentably I could not afford to indulge Carlisle in this one—it was far too risky.

I gravely shook my head and clasped my hands mournfully in front of my chest. "I am sorry, dearest Carlisle, but that is an accommodation that I cannot offer," I bemoaned, sincerely remorseful that this most palatable option was forbidden to him by mundane, but extremely important logistical difficulties.

I gradually stretched forth a hand to graze my cool fingertips over the smooth planes of his cheek. I wanted to ascertain his feelings in the present towards my unequivocal refusal to satiate him in this hazardous manner. "Surely you understand that having too many who know of our secret kept with us for so long is…" I trialed of for dramatic effect, "…_dangerous_."

"Then I would need to supplement with something else," Carlisle responded curtly, his lips growing tight with displeasure at his limited options for sustenance. He pondered mixing the occasional meal of animal blood into his mostly human diet, but quickly dismissed the idea, having seen how reluctant the newborns were to drink the blood of beasts while human blood lingered in their tissues. And with no other options, I felt a crushing wave of dread course through him as he realized that he might be compelled to kill in his hunger.

Suddenly a dizzying stream of vibrant images of himself slaughtering human beings overwhelmed his turbulent thoughts, and knowing that I was watching, he dipped his head in shame. Dark clouds of despair started to cloud his mind as he saw no way to obtain full health without running the risk of tainting his soul with murder, and he began trembling under my gentle fingers. Venom rapidly filled his eyes, alarmingly blurring the color away to a vacant white in seconds, and at once Carlisle began to whimper. The sound was soft and strangled as he tried to muffle it, but it tugged at my heartstrings all the same.

Terrified to see him spiraling into gloom, I strained to think of something else I could offer him when my human stores proved insufficient. Maybe I could hire grave robbers acquire fresh corpses, or bribe local hospitals into delivering to me the yields of their bloodletting, I considered. And even if these plans failed, perhaps Carlisle could learn to make tiny, hidden lacerations on the living while they slept and obtain the nourishment he needed that way. I was not opposed to any of these solutions if Carlisle could manage to be discreet.

Though, there was a much easier way. It would not _technically_ trespass against his narrow ethical strictures, nor require either of us to leave this castle. I couldn't believe that I had not thought of it before.

I chose my words cautiously, so as to select the vocabulary least likely to offend my sensitive friend. "…If damnation truly is your concern, in those instances of emergency I could… take the blow for you…" I suggested slowly after a long period of nervous silence between us. I removed my hand from his face to spread it across my unbeating heart in a mock-wounded gesture.

Carlisle's blonde eyelashes fluttered bewilderedly. "What do you mean?" he asked dubiously, uncertain as to whether I was actually daring to insinuate what he fearfully supposed I might be, as we stood together in this empty stone corridor.

"I could kill for you, when my servants are not enough to provide you the sustenance you need, so that those deaths were on my hands," I explained compassionately, extending my ashen palms forward in a gentle, fluid motion which was meant to convey my willingness to reach out in behalf of my friend, and to indicate where the blame would lie for such deeds. "I would gladly bear the guilt for you, if there is any to be born, Carlisle," I added with the utmost sincerity, pleading with him with my shining crimson eyes to accept my altruistic proposal to be a surrogate for his moral suffering. My clasped hands rocked slightly in prayer-like supplication,

Carlisle looked positively petrified by the suggestion that I would willingly take upon myself the scourge of damnation in his place. His golden eyes bulged and his face somehow seemed even paler than before. And he cringed, his expression traumatized at the prospect that I would so callously throw myself into the infernal pit, in order to offer him what seemed to be such a comparatively small measure of comfort.

It heartened me that he seemed to care enough about my soul that he loathed the notion of me tainting it further for his sake. But according to his belief system, I was already irredeemably condemned as long as I remained unrepentant, and so I saw no harm in adding a few more strikes to my overflowing sin-tally. _Was there something else that I had overlooked?_

I watched a thick lump build up in Carlisle's throat as he swallowed. "No, Aro," he began, ducking his eyes away from my steely gaze. "Although that is… _generous_ of you, I could not accept such an arrangement," he stalwartly denied. He struggled to keep his tone polite, though the tiniest edge of sarcasm sliced into the word _generous_ as it left his eloquent tongue. "Their deaths would still be indirectly my fault. And I could not live with myself knowing that I caused innocent people to die," he explained with a miserable expression, making it very clear with his statement that it was not only the welfare of our souls which troubled him, but also the horrifying idea that such an agreement might cause additional mortals to be killed to sustain him.

I curled my fingers surreptitiously at my sides in order to resist the urge to capture him fiercely in my powerful arms and affectionately squeeze away all the crushing sadness out of him.

"They would perish at my hands anyway," I rationalized placidly, as though we were discussing something as wholly mundane as the weather, rather than the lofty stakes of human life and death. "With few exceptions, all mortals who enter this castle will eventually be consumed," I explained further, pressing the tips of my fingers together and floating in a jagged circling around my friend slowly. The long brocade tails of my coat swirled behind me as I spun gracefully over the bright stone floor.

I watched him intently with my hawk-like vision as I floated around him for any unbidden emotional cues which would partially enlighten me as to his current predicament. Carlisle pursed his lips despondently, and his honey-colored eyes remained fiercely affixed to the ancient mortar between the floor bricks, but said nothing in response to my evidently ineffective reassurance.

And in my mounting frustration with his emotional dodging I suddenly lurched forward, insatiably curious to know his current thoughts. Knowing that he would never shy away from my touch as did nearly everyone else in this fortress, I smoothly slipped a few fingers beneath his chin to draw his avoiding gaze to meet mine, and took in his experiences. I gasped aloud as his sensitive conscience stung me with piercing intensity, and I at last I fully understood the source of his vexing reluctance to partake of his natural sustenance.

While his presence amid those who doled out death on a regular basis had hardened him to it somewhat over the last eleven years, the notion of becoming involved in our gruesome practices, no matter how distantly, prickled against his acute sense of right and wrong. He worried that by effectively adding his name to the list of those who partook of our rotating monthly meals, Heidi would decide to select additional humans to add to the parties she led into the throne room in order to sate his thirst—humans who would have been otherwise left unscathed. So I decided to make him a promise, which I would be sure to inform Heidi of, if Carlisle could ever bring himself to surmount his reservations.

"None I will ever offer to… make still… for you, will ever have survived otherwise," I affirmed genuinely in a soft, feathery voice. My cool breath blew across his face, and my fingertips shifted ever so slightly beneath his pale chin.

Carlisle made a discomfited expression. "Still…"

I sighed. "So you will not be persuaded then?" I asked dejectedly, even though I already knew the answer from his thoughts.

"No," he declared, leaving no room for argument over the matter. "Heinrich, Carmen and Athenodora may do as they wish," he granted with a weary expression. "But for now at least, I will continue to drink the blood of beasts."

"There are other options, Carlisle," I rebutted, desperate to restore my dear friend to full health. "Options that do not involve human death."

But Carlisle shook his head before I could further explain. "I appreciate the offer... but I am starting to think that I dislike the idea of being dependent on another person's life-source," he revealed suddenly, shuffling his feet uncomfortably against the chalky stones beneath them. Suddenly I recalled the woman he had drawn blood from once before, and how distraught he had been with himself when he had learned that the small incision he gave her in order to have a small taste of her blood had become grossly infected. I guessed that the prospect of possibly causing similar pain to others was not particularly appealing to the kind-hearted doctor.

"Even if I do not kill, I am still sapping human strength to feed mine, and that seems to me to be somewhat… exploitative," he reasoned, sounding vastly disturbed by the rather parasitic idea. He really did care for humans so much that the idea of harming them at all, (which would be necessary in order to draw blood) was unpalatable to him. My heart sank at the idea that despite all my efforts over these last several months, Carlisle might persist in his self-destructive ways to circumvent even the most infinitesimal (in my mind) forms of human suffering. Was there no way to win?

"Obviously, I do not wish to remain unhealthy forever," Carlisle quickly clarified, with hands fervently waving back and forth to assuage my fears that he intended to starve himself perpetually. "But, although the side-effects are somewhat unpleasant, I see no_ immediate_ danger: I have survived adequately on animal blood for over _fifty years_, now," he reminded me.

And accept for the "adequate" part, I reluctantly had to agree that he was right. Carlisle _had_ managed to limp along, half-starved-to-death for half a century, and thus far I could see no evident signs that his ghastly condition was going to deteriorate any further... so I supposed in his mind, he did not see a few more months, or even years of living on insufficient nutrition to be that enormous of a sacrifice. Especially when he felt that his abstinence from human blood for a little while longer would prove beneficially to so many members of the human race.

"So I think I will continue in my current ways until I am able to devise a suitable substitute," Carlisle concluded firmly.

I opened my mouth to protest, (bringing him fresh corpses was still an option, given his new parameters), but Carlisle again cut me off.

"If that means I am no longer welcome…" he added cautiously, nervously backing away a few steps with a pleading look in his eyes. He raised both hands to ward off any potential rage, visually begging me to continue to permit him to live under the truce we had originally agreed to.

My expression immediately softened. "You are always welcome here, Carlisle." I assured him. My fingers dropped from his chin to give his hand an affectionate squeeze. "I do worry for you and your health… and I may, at times, pester you with offerings of human blood—death-free, of course…" I stipulated, upon feeling the stabbing pain of his revulsion toward the demise of his mortal fellows. "But if you are willing to bear my occasional attempts to persuade you, then you are free to stay as long as you wish," I expressed happily, spreading my arms wide at my sides as to visibly demonstrate that I was delighted to house him as a guest for as many centuries as he might desire to.

"Thank you," he breathed quietly, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his mouth—but inwardly I felt his heart soar at the knowledge that I would not force his departure over this, "I would be delighted to stay."

"I am glad to hear it."

...

For the next eleven months, things went well between Carlisle and I. We were both very busy—Carlisle spent the vast majority of his time holed away in the dungeons laboring away fruitlessly to create a substitute, and I was quite occupied with punishing vampires across the world for their various crimes—and so our interactions were regrettably rather brief. But I was content that there was no quarrel among us, and could speak amicably with him whenever occasion permitted.

After it had become quite clear that Carlisle would not relent in his determination to try and concoct some kind of substitute for human blood, I decided to once again indulge his scientific muse by providing him with a state-of-the-art laboratory in the dungeons in which to conduct his work. The once rough and clammy walls of Heinrich's old cell were painted smooth with simple frescoes, a fresh layer of cement gave Carlisle's feet a flat, polished surface to stand on, and the empty walls and floor were filled with chestnut shelves and cabinets. Atop the soapstone counters sat a wide plethora of glass beakers, test tubes and other scientific equipment, and on a bookshelf in the corner was every reputable text I could find discussing the properties of human blood—which in this century, wasn't even enough to fill one shelf.

Because so little was known about human blood, I was almost certain that Carlisle would be unsuccessful in this venture. Perhaps, in the far future, with additional advances in science and medicine, he would know enough to achieve something with nutritional value. But at present, because of the exceedingly minimal scientific knowledge on this topic, I believed that his efforts would be entirely pointless. This world did not even fully understand why _humans_ needed blood, let alone vampires. From my enhanced senses, I had gathered a little more than the leading scientists of the day: namely I knew that there were differences—categories or types, of blood—but that was it. And that was hardly enough information to even write a suitable discourse about human blood, let alone fabricate a convincing replica.

But Carlisle was undeterred from his goal. In fact he rather brazenly had sworn a solemn oath to provide me with a viable alternative to human blood at the end of the year, despite my urgings against doing so. I knew that he took his oaths very seriously and thus was likely to do something horribly stupid in an attempt to keep it when the year started to draw to a close. But as the months wore on and a viable alternative eluded him, in my frequent absence, I was unable to do much to prevent any overzealous behavior on his part. Lots of apprehensions by my guard of criminals in other countries necessitated that I leave the castle frequently to determine their guilt. Not to mention that I too, had made an oath not to needlessly distract Carlisle with inane intrusions.

Today, however, as I had returned from punishing the creators of an immortal child, Athenodora, in concern for her friend had insisted that I read Carmen's mind, and I had discovered something utterly appalling which I needed to inform Carlisle of immediately. Though it had been some time since she was released from the experiment, Carmen had decided, according to her gentle nature, that she wished to attempt to continue living Carlisle's hazardous diet on her own, in spite of both mine and her mate, Eleazar's hearty protests. Although she insisted venomously that she was fine, it appeared, from the terrible revelation I saw in both her's and Athenodora's thoughts, that living in this manner wrought disturbing changes on Carmen's body.

It startled me that I had missed such a crucial thing as I observed the others, but because as newborns they did not know what to expect of immortality, they had not supposed this particular symptom was anything out of the ordinary. Carmen, and her furiously protective mate, however, having lived amid vampires who lived on human blood for centuries and having dined on it themselves for decades, were acutely aware of the loss which drinking animal blood caused.

Determined to rectify the disastrous misfortune which was pulling the amorous couple apart, and to cement even further into Carlisle's stubborn mind the concept that drinking the blood of beasts was dangerous to one's health, I decided to immediately rush down into the depths of the castle to relay the terribly news. I knew he was busy, and hated his work to be interrupted, but this matter was an absolute emergency, and I was afforded little other choice.

With this in min, I rapidly dashed to the bottom of the stairwell into the dungeons, the spotless dark fabric of my tailcoat whirling dramatically around me. As I rounded the corner, my keen eyes quickly rested upon the nervous figure of my friend, who was anxiously pacing back and forth down the lengthy hallway, wringing his hands in frustration, and running them furiously through his hair. In those moments before he was alerted to my presence, I was concerned to notice that his hair was unusually messy today, the flaxen strands sticking up every which way in an uncharacteristically disorderly fashion. His clothing also was severely rumpled, as though he had worn the same humble articles I saw on his person now, in addition to his darkly splotched lab coat, for an innumerable span of weeks.

It alarmed me that he appeared to have been so deeply absorbed in his work that he had not even paused to make the slightest concession for his appearance. But what troubled me even more so were the thick, dark circles I saw underneath his eyes, which were even more pronounced than usual, his eerily green skin, and his irises which were blacker than the deepest obsidian. Clearly, in his frenzied determination to fulfill his impossible promise to provide me with a viable alternative to human blood by the end of the year, he had neglected to leave the castle to restore his ebbing strength for quite some time. To me it looked like he had missed at least one, if not two of his bi-weekly meals, judging by his advanced signs of starvation.

And, from his frustrated, sluggish pacing, and the fragments of worried sentences I caught muttered nearly inaudibly under his breath, it seemed that his deprivation was in vain. His work on the substitute was not going very well at all.

I wanted to sigh in exasperation—Carlisle was running himself ragged over a lost cause.

But ultimately, I refrained from making any noise.

I wanted to wait in silence to see how long it would take Carlisle to be alerted to my presence while he was so thoroughly occupied in trudging tiredly back and forth between the open iron doors which had formerly housed his now thankfully absent test subjects. His movements were painfully slow, and his arms were heavy laden with a litany of fluid-filled beakers, untouched bags of coagulated human blood, and stacks of notes which were just as darky stained and deeply wrinkled as his attire. As he continued to move anxiously between the rooms, with this haphazard arrangement in his arms, he remained entirely oblivious to my arrival, despite the fact that we were the only two individuals in the entirety of the dungeons at the moment.

He also must have remained wholly unaware of his apparent hunger, for I had determined with my sensitive nose that many of the substances he carried with him were faintly appetizing, (enough to drive any other vampire with eyes like his mad with thirst), even in their states of evident age. But nonetheless the bags and beakers of blood and blood-like fluids in his hands were completely untouched.

It unnerved me that Carlisle might not even know that he had missed any meals at all. He evidently had not peered into a mirror for a while, and without nightly sleep to give a definite sense of how much time had passed, weeks could easily blur together for vampires as long as the thirst did not assert itself. Also, because of his abilities, his mind was probably inventing all sorts of other excuses for his increased fatigue and writing over the pain of his unfathomable thirst with the pain he felt at being unable to produce an acceptable substitute during the past eleven months. Fearfully, I concluded that if he persisted in this state, retaining a firm enough mental resistance to feeding, he could probably starve himself to death without even realizing it.

Perhaps he was already nearing the brink.

That was a terrifying thought.

Finally, after I had stood impatiently in the narrow dungeon corridor for several minutes, observing his weak, ungraceful movements, Carlisle suddenly halted in his tracks, and abruptly turned his head to face me. He was so fiercely startled by my unexpected presence that all the containers and papers in his hands clattered noisily to the floor. The large stack of glass containers he had been carrying shattered into a thousand fragments as they collided with the hard stone, and sludgy, dark red fluids splattered all over himself, the grimy floor and his crumpled notes. I heard Carlisle hiss irately under his breath—the closest the devout man ever came to cursing—and futilely, he attempted to brush off the thickly soaked papers which now clung all over his disastrously drenched lab coat and trousers. Though he quickly threw up his hands in defeat and gave up the embarrassing quest.

"Aro what brings you here?" Carlisle bit out somewhat tersely, as he gradually lowered himself to the floor to scoop up the glass fragments which were strewn hazardously about, and hastily removed his ruined lab coat to mop up the sizable mess he had created. "…it is not ready yet," he declared bitterly with a self-loathing expression, as he vigorously rubbed the rumpled fabric over the sickly sweet, gooey puddle in front of him.

"I can see that," I observed with a single, elegantly-arched, raised black eyebrow. "But that is not what I came here to discuss," I stated with heavy, somber authority, making it very clear I had not come here to speak about his pathetic attempts to fabricate a sufficient blood-alternative.

Carlisle immediately straightened, ignoring the remainder of the slushy pile which lied at his feet, and ran a nervous hand through his sloppy hair, sensing the seriousness of what I was about to tell him. "Has something happened?" He enquired with deep concern, squinting, as though there was something caught in his eye which he could not manage to melt out with his venom. He also pinched the bridge of his nose in a very human-esque gesture, suggesting that perhaps he was aggrieved by a headache.

No, that couldn't be right, vampires did not get headaches—it must have been something else.

"Carlisle, I have just discovered the most terrible thing in Carmen's and Athenodora's minds," I began with a grievous shake of my head, my long black locks tossing in a dark halo around me, before my gentle, polite tone grew sharp and acidic. "That _filth_ you call food has messed with their bodies," I spat venomously, jabbing an accusatory finger towards his chest.

Although quite fearful of my unpredictable wrath, and staggering backwards a shaky step in response to my ferocious outburst, Carlisle mostly appeared confused. "But they no longer…"

"Yes, they have both been liberated from the experiment for a while now," came my curt, tight-lipped response. I loomed forward ominously, emphasizing my imposing power with my lean, rippling muscles and increased proximity. "But certainly you are aware that… in her _compassion,_ Carmen does not dine on human blood alone," I reminded him harshly, making it no mystery that I held an intense disdain for Carmen's prolonged, now self-inflicted, torture, and by extension, the one who had introduced her to the terrifyingly deleterious concept.

"She tries to drink... animal blood... whenever she can, yes," Carlisle admitted slowly, nervously "testing the waters" with his hesitant response, and furrowing his brow in concentration, as though speaking was somewhat of a difficult task, before drifting closer to the grimy stone wall to his left. "But eventually... the hunger wears on her and she... gives in," he offered sadly, closing his eyes regretfully over the painful memories of Carmen's frequent losses of control, and the gory human deaths he had unfortunately witnessed as a result.

Carlisle propped a tense, white-knuckled hand against one of the stone walls, to support his sagging weight, as though his fatigue was so severe that he was struggling to remain on his feet. "Athenodora... of course, has switched... back entirely... to human blood," he finished laboriously. His eyes flickered darkly with despair at the notion that Caius' beloved wife had returned to her mates' side to feed with him in the throne room, before Carlisle leaned his face tiredly against the arm which was flush with the large cool stone and briefly closed his eyes.

"As she should," I coldly declared, shooting Carlisle an icy, reproving glare—_this was not something he could simply casually lean against a wall and ignore! _

"A-aro! Is something... is something wrong?" he stammered in bewildered shock at my insensitively blunt assertion, raising his head suddenly, and wobbling a few clumsy steps away from the wall in confounded fear.

_Must he be so obtuse?_

"Yes, something is _very wrong, _Carlisle!" I shouted. "It appears that living in your unhealthy manner, even only partially, as Carmen is, does horrific things to the female body!" I viciously seethed. All thirty-two of my blunt white teeth clenched ferociously tight, and my chest heaved with angry, ragged, unnecessary breaths as I wrestled to subdue the empathetic rage I felt. Having touched Carmen myself and felt the indescribable pain of her loss through my gift that was a result of Carlisle's disastrous eating methods, I was furious.

"…I know it does take some time... to r-recover," Carlisle replied compromisingly, attempting to assuage my suddenly rabid fury with his gentle, angelic tone. Though his voice was marred with a shakiness that was unnerving, and he raised both hands to steady his slightly tilting forehead, as though troubled with waves of vertigo. "But her strength seems quite r-restored, the dark ci-circles have brightened, her s-skin is looking healthier…" he rambled on apprehensively, visibly flustered by my seemingly incomprehensible wrath. He even stumbled over some of his words as his lethargic tongue struggled to keep up with his rapid thoughts.

I wondered if his stammering was a result of his protracted period of unsatisfied thirst.

"You know that those are not my concern," I remarked in a softer, though equally caustic tone. Starting to feel worried about him, I skeptically surveyed his seemingly dizzy behavior to ascertain whether it was merely an affectation to distract me, or it was a genuine indication of the severity of his condition. If it was the latter, then Carlisle could be in big trouble.

"…It is un-unfortunate what happens to our hair when we d-drink the b-blood of beasts…" he nervously supplied.

Evidently, he was wholly unaware of which terrifying symptom I was so vastly perturbed by, and desperately grasping at whatever alarming physical difference between him and myself he could think of, hoping to eventually pinpoint which evidence of starvation had alighted in me such uncharacteristically fierce anger. My worry for him increased, as it was entirely unlike him to make such mindless suggestions, and stutter so heavily in fear.

But in my wrath and efforts to make myself as frightening as possible, I tried to dismiss his strange behavior as a natural response to my imposing presence.

I scoffed bitterly. "Her hair is the _least_ of my concerns. Certainly perfectly lustrous hair becoming dull, brittle and breaking off at the top is not a sign of excellent health, but that hardly concerns me," I forthrightly dismissed with an apathetic gesture. "Eleazar may be livid, but his wife is undeterred by that fact alone," I clarified with a deep scowl. "No this goes much beyond that."

"I d-do not understand—what did you... what did... you d-discover about... about h-her?" he asked cautiously.

Now I was beginning to sincerely suspect that his uncharacteristic stammering was a symptom of something worrisome. Especially as he exhaustedly ducked his head for a few moments, presumably to rest his neck, before hefting it back up to look up with drowsy curiosity at me. I had never seen him this weak—just how long had he been down here foolishly ignoring his body's needs? Could he already be slipping away?

"…Carlisle… When was the last time you fed?" I asked, my baritone voice suddenly buttery smooth and warm. I felt compassionately uneased as I watched him rush to brace the wall with both hands now, clearly slipping in his control over his physical faculties. His muscles were weakened to the point that he was no longer able to support his own weight, resulting in him sliding fractionally downwards even as he leaned heavily against the thick, solid surface.

Carlisle wearily lifted his eyelids, apparently unable to open his eyes entirely. "Ah... I do not remember," he sighed absently. Then he crossed his eyes in deep concentration as he struggled through thick brain fog to determine the date of his last feeding. "Perhaps..." he sighed softly, before a look of horrified comprehension rapidly dawned on his face. "Dear h-heavens has it really been _t-two months_?" he sputtered weakly, in astonished disbelief, before his eyelids flickered shut once more.

That was worse than I thought, for it meant he had missed not one, or two, but _four _meals.

Carlisle needed to feed, _now. _

But before I could suggest that he feed himself, all of a sudden Carlisle began tumbling backwards as a bout of lack-of-blood-induced-dizziness summarily seized him. His unsteady, jelly-like legs were not enough to keep him on his feet, and I watched in horror as he nearly toppled to the floor in an ungainly heap. Both of my arms darted forward and firmly caught his weak, limp arms, and I pulled him roughly against my chest to prevent him from crashing unconsciously against such a hard surface. As I surveyed the quivering form in my arms, I gasped in terror as his head disturbingly rolled back on his neck, which no longer seemed strong enough to support it.

His limbs suddenly went totally limp in my tenacious grasp.

This was not good.

I had only witnessed something like this once before: in the last few hours before the vampire, whom Caius and I were starving here in the dungeons, ceased moving altogether. Terrified by his extreme symptoms, I decided that this conversation, although crucial, needed to wait until after this emergency was dealt with. My stomach churned with the nauseating fear of losing him, and I started racking my panicking mind for a solution to this catastrophe.

After a few seconds, I determined at once that I would have to feed Carlisle human blood, and I possessed neither the time nor the resources to sate his immensely far-gone thirst in a manner which was absent of mortal demise. It unsettled me to force Carlisle to feed in such a manner against his will. But I realized as he lied slumbering in my arms, only the occasional fluttering of eyelids and twitching of fingers to reassure me that he was still alive, either I had to risk losing his trust by saving his life, or helplessly watch him die in order to respect his wishes for humans to live.

And I wasn't about to watch my beloved friend die.

Shifting the eerily ragdollish vampire in my arms so that I was carrying him bridal-style, I swiftly ran towards the stairwell leading out of the dungeons, sprinted up the gloomy stairwell in the blink of an eye and bolted desperately into the bright hallway beyond. As I strode deeper into the corridor just above the dungeons with long powerful strides, I shouted at a piercing decibel, which rang throughout the castle.

"Guards! Gather all the emergency sustenance into the dining hall!" I cried out urgently as I moved in that direction. As I passed them in the hall, several hooded figures looked at me, and then the form of Carlisle draped in my arms with quizzical expressions. "Do not ask questions, simply do as I ask!" I barked at them, flicking my wrist irritably to get them to scatter. "Quickly!"

I watched for a moment with grim satisfaction as the velvety black cloaks around me flurried hastily to fulfill my demands, before I flitted hurriedly into the throne room. I made sure not to jar the precious unconscious vampire in my arms as I raced desperately into the ancient castle turret to impatiently wait for my guards to arrive.

Hesitantly placing the back of my hand against Carlisle's quivering cheek, I saw the dizzy black spots swarming his vision, and felt his whirling confusion and fear. Surrounding him on all sides was a white-hot, maddening thirst which wholly overwhelmed his hazy thoughts. Dread washed over me as I felt the familiar veil of death creeping over him—something that I had experienced far too many times in both humans and vampires, (usually as I killed them) to mistake for anything else. Carlisle was dying.

And if I didn't do something fast, it would be too late.

"Felix!" I barked at the brown-haired vampire who was standing idly by the entrance. "What are you doing? Carlisle is _dying_! Fetch me a human, any human, at once!"

Felix stiffened frightfully before he suddenly vanished down the hallway for a few seconds. He then swiftly returned in the company of Demetri and Heidi, both of whom were very flustered, judging by their wind-tossed hair, and unkempt appearances. All three were dragging several terrified, screaming men and women by the wrists over the cold stone floor into the room.

"Aro may I ask what is…" Heidi began respectfully. She immediately shut her mouth however as her ruby eyes slowly fell upon the immobile, ghastly-looking vampire lying on the brink of death in my protectively cradling arms.

"Kill them. All of them," I commanded coldly, gesturing to the humans writhing and shrieking in their grips.

…

After all the ear-grating wailing had finally ceased, Heidi gently lied the two bodies she had produced in response to my commands at my feet and quickly walked out of the room, pleased that she had done what was required of her. Demetri and Felix soon followed her imperious lead, but left the throne room with a little more hesitance—unwilling to abandon me with a starving vampire, until I fiercely shooed them away to give us some privacy.

Carlisle was in absolutely no condition to feed himself, and so I made a split-second decision as to how to remedy this predicament. Biting harshly into the neck of the nearest dead human, a young woman, in her late twenties, I sucked as much blood into my mouth as my cheeks would hold, and without swallowing the slightest drop, I lifted slowly from her neck before turning quickly and dipping my head to where Carlisle's lay. Parting his soft alabaster lips with my fingers, I pressed my mouth firmly against his, to allow the blood within to flow past my tongue and down into his dry, burning throat. Carlisle swallowed the substance slowly, but otherwise made no indication that he was still alive—He needed more blood.

So I repeated the process, drinking from the humans before me, and transferring the blood into his mouth. And as I continued to feed him in this peculiar manner, I grew more and more distressed as his mind remained utterly blank, and he made no movement except to swallow what I offered him.

I was about to give up, after I had fed him the entirety of the second human, when Carlisle shifted slightly in my arms. His thoughts, though hazy, resumed in his mind at the same moment. Delighted, and relieved, I set about feeding him the third human, careful to not let any blood slip past my lips onto my chin or drip wastefully on the floor—for Carlisle needed every last drop.

He started to stir, in response to the nutrition entering his system, and through my gift I could tell that his mind was beginning to process the sensations his body was experiencing. I felt the hot blood pouring down his throat, the cool brush of my lips over his, and the dull tug against his neck as my frantic hands grasped the collar of his splotchy cotton button-up shirt in desperation for him to live. As I registered these sensations, immediately I worried that he might start to resent me for what I was doing. But Carlisle was presently, unperturbed by the fact that I was feeding him human blood, or that, in any other situation, my lips having this much contact with his could be easily misconstrued. Instead he accepted my frantic offerings with resigned pleasure, savoring the delightful taste, and wonderful feeling of human blood splashing across his tongue.

When I began to feed him the fourth human, however, that his eyes flickered open and he began to be upset with our current arrangement. I paused, before Carlisle's gaze lazily swept across the room, and he quickly surmised what was going on. _Wait. Aro killed people to bring me this blood,_ Carlisle realized all of a sudden. _He __slaughtered his own servants probably without a second thought. _He frowned as his eyes passed over the crumpled bodies laying in a haphazard circle around us. I stiffened, expecting Carlisle to try to leap to his feet and run away and prepared to restrain him so that I might continue until he was completely sated. But after ascertaining that all those being fed to him were already beyond saving, instead Carlisle simply closed his eyes, tilted his head back and parted his lips, as if to silently petition me to feed him more.

I was incredulous at first, but is thoughts confirmed that more blood was what he desired—the frenzy had set in, unadulterated by his powers, and it was now physically painful to be denied satisfaction at this point. We both hissed at the same time from the relentless, white-hot burning in Carlisle's throat, and shifted uncomfortably as we discovered it was accompanied by a persistent, throbbing ache in his half-filled stomach. _Please, _Carlisle's thoughts begged me. _Please finish. _

A wave of sharp emotional trauma briefly swept through him as he remembered that finishing would involve feeding him blood from the people I had "murdered" for his sake, but it quickly dissolved amidst the pressing hunger attacking his esophagus and other digestive organs with a constant, stabbing. _Please,_ _I will not be mad, _he half-promised, half-implored as his mind desperately conjured up image after image of the beautiful red liquid I was denying him.

I was momentarily distracted from what he was effectively saying, as I began to notice something phenomenally unusual through our prolonged physical contact. Carlisle's tempestuous emotions in the moment made it very clear that he was profoundly aggrieved by his body's natural instincts, and yet, I was surprised to discover as the seconds tolled on that his recent brutal imaginations of human carnage remained utterly intact. Typically, he was so vastly disturbed by what he saw that the bloody visions vanished from existence almost as soon as they were generated. But today, in spite of his incredible distaste for them, the images remained firmly burned into his crystalline memory, preserved perfectly in all their cruel, hedonistic glory, wholly untouched by his overactive abilities.

It baffled me.

_Perhaps he was coming to subconsciously accept that there was a predator in him rather than so firmly denying it,_ I pondered hopefully.

_But Carlisle next thoughts interrupted those musings. __Please, Aro my friend, __he pleaded._ He lips quivered from the guilt he felt at being so fiercely overtaken by his long-ignored instincts, and he nearly whimpered from the excruciating pain as he laid in my arms. _Do_ not leave me like this. __

His broken plea touched me. And so before his hyperactive conscience demanded otherwise, I swiftly drank more blood from the neck of the fourth mortal, pressed my lips to Carlisle's and slowly opened them to allow the blood to spill into his mouth.

_Mmmm... yes. Delicious, _Carlisle thought blissfully as he passively let me feed him. _Oh my, this is incredible!_ He inwardly exclaimed as the cells in his body began to electrify with the energy I was providing him. _I have never felt this way before. That small taste I had from Aro's servant was but a shadow of this! Why is this so exquisite? _He wondered, practically mewling at the exhilarating experience, before his thoughts to a grievous turn. _It is so cruel that fellow beings had to perish for this. It disgusts me how much I am pleased by what their deaths have brought me._

Not wanting to upset him, I paused just before I was about dip my head again to drink up another mouthful of blood and regarded the man lying peacefully in my lap with a somber expression, hoping that he could see the apology in my eyes. _No, no! Don't stop. Please, __Carlisle_ urged_, _reaching out to tenderly grasp my hand and nodding eagerly to assure me that he was okay with this, his fingers and neck much stronger now than before.

His enthusiasm to continue, despite the fact that the deaths of the humans I was feeding him deeply disturbed him, bewildered me. I supposed he realized that there was nothing he could do to revive them, and knew that I would only fight with him if he attempted to struggle away from this, but I remained perplexed. At least, until I felt from his heart as I reluctantly complied, that he believed allowing me to finish what I had started to save his life was the best thanks he could offer.

It touched me, in a bizarre way that he was willing to let me feed him now, for my peace of minds' sake. And I treasured these moments, knowing that this would likely be the only time I would have the opportunity to witness Carlisle so at ease with the consumption of human blood. His thoughts darkened slightly whenever I finished with one mortal and seized the next, clearly disturbed by the prospect of having unwittingly been the instigator of so much death. But when the hot blood poured into his mouth from mine, his guilt was entirely overridden by an immense satisfaction that had us both moaning with unbridled delight between tastes. Carlisle had abstained from this momentous pleasure for so long, to finally completely embrace it was an experience akin to finally achieving the sweet release from decades of unresolved sexual tension.

And as our skin maintained contact, I experienced this inexplicable pleasure alongside him.

When at last the eighth and final human brought to me was entirely drained, I was about to call for another, when Carlisle suddenly sat up and shook his head. His eyes were wide and bright crimson, and his bloodstained lips emitted one final gasp of ecstasy to let me know that his thirst was finally completely satisfied.

I wanted to cry—not from sadness, but in joy. The sight of Carlisle with red-flushed cheeks, bloodstained lips, properly colored skin, and eyes bright with the evidence of his satiation, was beautiful to behold. For the first time in his immortal existence, Carlisle was finally healthy.

But I also feared that it would be the last time.

...

"There was something you wished to discuss, before I impolitely fainted on you," Carlisle reminded me sometime later. He and I had already amicably settled the issue myself giving him what I, Bella, supposed was the vampire version of CPR. Carlisle had sworn a solemn oath that a repeat occurrence would not be necessary, and I had sworn to never harm another human being for his sake, without his permission.

I, Aro, was honestly surprised that Carlisle remembered that—he had been rather incoherent before he had fallen unconscious.

"It was hardly _impolite,_" I expressed, confounded and mildly concerned by his self-deprecating interpretation of the event. "It was not as if you meant to."

"True, nonetheless it was my own neglect, for which I am the only one to blame, which led to my loss of consciousness," he countered apologetically, with the tiniest humble dip of his head, and a strong pale hand spreading in a guilty motion over his frozen heart. Clearly, he was submerged in fathomless shame for allowing his health to deteriorate to the point that I was driven to kill in order to prevent the termination of his existence.

I sighed—_was he never going to get over his need to blame himself? I was the one who decided to slaughter those men and women, not he. _

Seeing the insatiable curiosity wriggling just beneath the surface in every graceful masculine curve of his body, I decided to answer his question, although I would have preferred to reveal this crucial piece of information when the sting of mortal death was not so fresh upon his fragile soul. I knew that telling him this piece of information would hardly have the persuasive effect I desired now. But in my own deep regret over being forced into a situation where I had to betray my dear friend in order to preserve him, I was anxious to give him anything he wished, as my penance for not having intervened sooner and saved him in a more morally palatable manner.

"I was going to tell you that, although Athenodora and the other females formerly under your charge seem to be recovering nicely, Carmen, because of her continued reliance on such an inferior substance, is now barren, unable to carry children," I iterated gravely.

Carlisle looked at me quizzically with his jarring crimson eyes. "That is hardly my fault. As vampires, we are frozen, unchanging, and thus it only logically follows that the female body is incapable of making the changes necessary to accommodate a child."

"Is that what you think?" _Had he been so blind to not see it… perhaps… his only female contact was with his test subjects, which of course would have been made barren by their starvation._ "You have not noticed it then… with my wife."

"Is there something unusual about Sulpicia?" He asked nervously, clearly uncomfortable about discussing the topic of my spouse.

Especially since she was precisely physically his "type", and it greatly unnerved him that he was unwittingly very sexually attracted to his best friend's mate, when said best friend could read his every lustful thought about her. In truth, his physical fascination with Sulpicia did not upset me, because his "lascivious" thoughts were actually rather tame, and I knew that with his beliefs which allotted adultery a very similar eternal sentence as murder, he would never touch her. Besides, it was, in my mind, impossible _not _to think my wife was beautiful (I would not have mated and married her otherwise) and I had seen the minds of plenty of men who had thought of doing much, _much_ worse things with her because of it.

I wished I could tell Carlisle that he did not have to beat himself up over his perfectly natural desire for her for my sake. But I knew that telling Carlisle I knew of his attraction to my wife would positively mortify him, so I left it alone.

"No. But apparently you have not observed female vampire kind closely enough," I observed disapprovingly.

"…I do try to be respectful of their modesty…" He whispered embarrassedly, gazing avoidantly at the floor and nervously shuffling his black heeled feet.

"Her stomach. Surely you have seen…"

"She keeps herself fully-clothed at all times in my presence, Aro!" Carlisle interjected loudly, to make sure I was well aware that he had never trespassed upon my exclusive right to view that particular portion of her voluptuous anatomy without the hindrance of cloth.

I frowned and rolled my eyes. _Of course_. My wife was no exhibitionist. "…Yes… but fabric can hardly hide the evidence," I explained slowly, vaguely, assuring him with a calming gesture that I wholeheartedly believed that Carlisle had made no untoward moves on my wife.

"The evidence of what?" He asked anxiously. He looked torn between insatiable curiosity over what I was going to say and insurmountable fear that I was going to relate inappropriately sensuous details about my marital relationship.

"The evidence of her fertility," I clarified matter-of-factly. "Sulpicia is carrying my child."


	14. Chapter 13: Propagation

**AN: Yes, if you look up starvation in humans almost all of the symptoms referenced in the last several chapters are there—including the loss of fertility in women in extreme cases. When I was doing the research for this fanfiction and came across that, I figured I would roll with it. More on that will be explained in this chapter, I promise—I'm going to try to make it make as much sense as possible, without disrupting canon too much. **

**Just to recap what we've learned (since it's been kind of spread out) we now know that animal blood is so gross that unless a vampire is starving, their gag reflex will force it back up again. This means that if a vampire drinks human blood but wants their next meal to be animal blood they have to either discover a method to override their gag reflex or wait for a few months until their bodies are starving again. ****We also know that starvation in vampires causes greenish skin, dark circles, less speed and less strength, and brittle hair, which breaks off short, and stops growing. **

**Those with physical powers normally require more human blood because of the strain their powers exert on their bodies, so the tiny nourishment that animal blood provides is even less helpful for them-leading those with physical powers to deteriorate more rapidly. Those with mental powers eat a tiny bit more than those without powers at all, but both vampires we know who have mental powers that drink animal blood use their powers to alleviate or distract from their pain. Vampires without powers are the most "comfortable" on a diet of animal blood, but still experience quite a bit of pain and without restraints, would eventually succumb to the draw of human blood. **

**Crazy right? **

**Anyway on with the show! Oh wait... first a disclaimer...**

**Warning: this chapter does mention stuff revolving around how babies are made—nothing smutty, mind you, but it does bring up some technical facets which have the potential to alarm extremely sensitive readers. I think most everyone who has endured some or all of high school will think this is rather tame, but this is just as head's up.**

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: Propagation**

_Wait a minute, she is_ _what_? I, Bella, thought in utter disbelief, suddenly finding myself very much me again, as Lucretia's tiny icy hand slowly extricated itself from mine. The centuries-old images of the dingy castle dungeons rapidly melted away into my brighter present-day surroundings. _I must have heard wrong, vampires can't do that, _I rationalized to myself. I felt the red veil of my mental barrier rush back into my mind and flow over my skin like a warm bubble bath—refreshing and comforting in its presence, and thankfully harmless, now that Lucretia was no longer touching me.

_Aro has a wife and she is…_

"Pregnant. With child. Expecting. Bringing a new life into the world. Whatever you want to call it…" Aro spoke unexpectedly. His cool, velvety voice soundded so very strange saying such unusual, uncomfortably feminine things, especially as his gorgeous pale lips rolled over the syllables most men butchered in their awkwardness, with unruffled ease.

I fiercely shook my head, refusing to accept his words. "But… but that's impossible!" I protested. My gaze flickered desperately over to Edward and Alice to back me up, but both of their faces were totally impassive, completely accepting of Aro's devastating words.

"Rosalie said that when vampires change, they're frozen in the moment of their transformation… they can't change or grow past that, so obviously their bodies can't handle morphing to make room for a baby!" I defended desperately. I was positively terrified by the horrible implications if what she had told me was, in fact, another of the Cullens' many lies, for that would mean that Rosalie was barred from her greatest desire not by nature, but by Carlisle's choice to keep her ignorant. And if that was the case, then Rosalie would be beyond livid if she ever found out she had been deceived for all this time.

"When the venom enters our system it is true that we are frozen in that same year of development," Aro clarified softly with his chocolaty, melodic voice. He gradually detached his large hand from Titania's chubby white fingers as he spoke, and gracefully swept over the ancient, dusty floor in my direction. His midnight black cape and robes billowed majestically behind him.

"But for healthy vampires, we still continue to grow hair and can adapt as is necessary for procreation," he explained delicately, giving his silky ebony locks a slight, frivolous toss, before settling his hands over the shoulders of the adorable twin vampires between us. "It is only in unhealthy vampires that the body determines there is not enough energy for such things."

"I don't understand…." I muttered in nervous denial, still waiting anxiously for any sign, no matter how marginal, of disagreement or protest from Edward and Alice.

A slight scowl began to mar Edward's marble-esque face as he remained kneeling, helpless and armless, against the light brown stone floor several feet away but he said nothing. Alice stood expressionlessly behind him, offering neither affirmation nor negation of Aro's earth-shattering assertion. Demetri and Felix flanked her on both sides, and struggled, even with their supernatural strength, to subdue Edward's detached but still wildly flopping appendages.

It was disturbing to realize that, although I had experienced two decades of a vampire's lifetime through the gifts of the tiny dark-haired twins, no more than a few minutes had passed in the present. Edward apparently had not been pieced back together during my short mental absence.

"Humans who are starving experience the same symptoms of brittle hair and infertility when their deprivation becomes severe enough," Aro expounded academically, flickering a meaningful glance at one of the cloaked figures in the crowd, presumably a woman who had experienced those effects during her mortal life. "Why then is it so strange that vampires who are insufficiently nourished suffer similarly?" he challenged rhetorically. He spread his powerful arms—the supernaturally strong and lithe appendages which had been "mine" not too long ago—wide in a gesture which suggested there was no other logical conclusion.

Now my eyes swept desperately over the curtain of black figures clinging agitatedly to the edges of the room, to see if any of Aro's subordinates visibly questioned his line of reasoning. Clearly, they had been made irritable by the considerable delay of their scheduled meal, but otherwise I could discern nothing of how they really felt. Their faces were either too heavily shrouded in the shadow of their austere hoods, too wild with dark burgundy-eyed thirst, or too firmly blank to tell if any among the Volturi guard dared to doubt the declarations of their master.

"But… that means…" I sputtered pathetically, still unwilling to accept it.

"Yes, Bella. Rosalie has no idea," Edward grimly confirmed, with a labored shake of his weary head. "Carlisle has kept her in the dark on purpose," he added sourly. His distaste for the vampire I had come to care a lot more deeply for through Aro's thoughts was gratingly evident. But his distaste for his vain, surrogate sister was somehow even stronger—acrid to the point that it was almost pungently tangible. "You do understand what she would do if she knew, right?"

I swallowed thickly. I did know.

Rosalie had never been particularly fond of humanity as a whole, or even most people when she bothered to get to know them on an individual basis. Not to mention she had already murdered five people—albeit out of revenge, rather than for their blood. So to her, it would probably seem insignificant to murder complete strangers if their deaths would bring her closer to her life's greatest aspiration: her burning desire to have children.

If she ever learned that human blood could give that opportunity back to her, all of Carlisle's teachings about valuing human life would be hastily thrown out the window. She would never look back on them either. Carlisle's philosophies would be made entirely meaningless to her by their hindrance of her maternal goals. She would be merciless, and remorseless—a monster, and a terrifying mother—regardless of what any of the Cullens might say or do to try to stop her. She would listen to no one, probably not even Emmett, and would kill every human on the planet if she had to—That was the depth of her hunger to have children.

"Rosalie would kill to have babies," I conceded sadly, chewing slightly on my lower lip and gazing mournfully into Edward's lifeless, melted honey-eyes.

Edward nodded sadly, but I would have never guessed Alice's reaction. The left corner of her lips twitched slightly, as though she was suppressing a smile. I was perplexed by this, until I realized that Alice must be considering the prospect of drinking human blood herself in order to have a child with Jasper, and was elated to finally have that opportunity, but was attempting unsuccessfully to mask her joy for my sake.

A shiver of horror went down my spine as I imagined the short, pixie-like vampire I had come to love as my sister with a slight baby bulge, leaping with lethal intent onto my classmates back in Forks, and latching animalistically onto their vulnerable necks in order to feed the tiny life growing inside her. The ghastly vision clashed so jarringly with what I thought I knew about the spunky, peaceful girl, that I felt like the entire world had been flipped upside down and violently smashed apart.

There were certain things that just _were_ and were incapable of being any other way. Like the sun being bright, dirt being brown, water being wet... and you know, Alice refusing to hunt humans for any reason, vampires being sterile, the Cullens' vegetarianism working for them….

But recent evidence seemed to indicate that the last three of those "facts" were not true. And now I was starting to consider the dangerous possibility that everything—_everything _I had ever been taught by the golden-eyed family about managing bloodlust, about supernatural gifts, and about vampires in general—was horribly, _horribly_ wrong.

And since I had wanted to become one, based on what I had seen from the Cullens, I now had to stop and question that desire which I had harbored so ardently. _Did I really want immortality if it meant drinking human blood?_ I wondered. I supposed I did not necessarily have to kill… but to draw out blood inconspicuously while leaving humans alive was much more difficult and likely to meet both the Cullens' and the Volturi's disapproval, and I really would prefer not to endure eternity in complete solitude.

I frowned and hesitantly looked back over at Aro's "daughters" who were still holding hands, and apparently having some sort of silent conversation in their minds. Suddenly, it struck me that, in light of the recent revelation, the young twin girls could actually be Aro's biological, vampire-born children.

I looked up at Aro with a desperate searching look in my eyes, and asked with extreme trepidation: "Lucretia… Titania… are they…?"

"Yes, dearest Isabella," Aro finished for me with a sly grin. Fluidly, he directed an elegant, embroidery-clad arm in the direction of the two ruby-eyed children standing eerily still between us. They flickered emotionally-laden glances at each other and occasionally at myself or Aro as their secretive internal exchange proceeded. "They are my actual offspring," he confirmed. "Conceived and brought into this world as vampires, by vampires."

"…You and…" I struggled to say it, unwilling to face that fact that this intoxicating man was already taken. "..._your wife… _created these children?"

Aro's smile turned darkly sensual in response to my timid hint at the natural reproduction process. I bit back the urge to gasp as his sultry gaze seemed to set every nerve of my body aflame with passionate desire.

"Certainly you are an adult and understand how these things work, dearest Isabella," he said, his voice thickly dripping with provocative suggestion.

A deep red blush blossomed over my cheeks at his insinuation that perhaps I was sexually ignorant. "…Of course…" I defended softly, mortified by how awkward this conversation was getting and how much sadistic pleasure Aro seemed to be gleaning from my discomfort in discussing these things with him. I was especially upset because I now knew that romantically, he was entirely out of my reach.

Aro chuckled. "Then I hardly need to say anymore," he purred with his velvety voice, making my spine tingle with excitement, and a bittersweet flurry of butterflies to swarm in my stomach. "They are as much my daughters are you are Charlie's," he added with a soft, paternal smile, as he drifted closer to his daughters. The girls detached their linked hands in response to his approach and buried their adorable little fingers into the sumptuous fabric of his cape.

I stiffened at the mention of my very fragile, human father.

Noticing my horror-stricken expression, Aro's proud grin melted into a look of grandfatherly concern. "Don't worry, I intend him no harm either, so long as he does not poke his head where it does not belong."

"He knows nothing," I rushed to say, determined to protect my dad from a cruel and vindictive death for a crime that had not been committed.

"Yes. Edward showed me as much," Aro offered reassuringly. He sweept a cordial hand towards the dismembered vampire, before settling it lovingly on Titania's raven-haired head. "You need not worry, dearest Isabella, I will ensure that as long as your father remains in the dark, he will not perish at our hands," he promised with fervent sincerity.

I nodded slowly, accepting his terms, and begging the greater cosmos that whatever happened to me here, my father would be smart enough to keep his nose out of it, despite his love for me and his deeply investigative nature. Even if I would never see him again, I hated to think of his life being cut horribly short because he was unwilling to let me go without answers.

"I still don't completely get it though… Alice, you said that creating immortal children was a crime," I said, perplexed by the apparent inconsistency.

I turned to my black-eyed, spiky-haired friend in a futile attempt to get some kind of verbal response out of her since this conversation had started. But instead of replying to my pressing question, however, Alice merely kept her mouth set into a hard line, and refused to breathe. Perhaps she was too thirsty to trust herself enough to open her mouth, I realized in terror—having felt for myself through Carlisle's memories just how severe black-eyed thirst really was.

After a few moments of tense silence, Aro made a soft sound, like clearing his throat, to get my attention and answered in Alice's place: "Transforming human children into vampires is a crime because they are untamable," he explained with a remorseful expression.

Aro's tiny daughters fearfully buried their heads into his robes at the mention of their mortal-turned-vampire counterparts, as though they knew full-well the brutal end that invariably met those poor children and their caretakers. Aro paused to gently rub the heads of his positively terrified daughters in reassuring motion, most likely to remind them that they were completely different than those of which he spoke, and thus perfectly safe from destruction.

"Unlike my daughters, 'immortal children' are physically frozen in the year of their transformation," he continued. His tone of voice let me know that the term "immortal children" had been chosen to describe such creatures not simply because they were kids who happened to be vampires, but because they would always be kids and never grow up like Aro's own children presumably would.

"For a while I kept a pair of these 'immortal children' under observation, to see if they ever could be trained," Aro related matter-of-factly, pressing the pale tips of his fingers together in a motion that I now knew intimately well—as those had been "my" hands no too long ago. "I learned that they can gain incredible knowledge of facts and languages. But they could never develop the cognitive ability to set something as abstract as the protection of the vampire world above their immediate wants," he explained.

"Because their brains are eternally immature, no matter how often they are scolded, or told the important of keeping our secret, they are incapable of truly understanding. That rational part of their neural physiology can never be developed," Aro lamented with a downcast look. Evidently he did not enjoy the ghastly punishment he was forced to dole out upon those mesmerizingly adorable children as a result.

"Because they cannot be controlled or taught, they are a liability to our secret, and must be eradicated," Aro declared with unquestionable finality. The twins clinging to his luxurious clothes visibly flinched as he said this, and clung even tighter to his cape, which I was surprised did not tear from the pressure being frightfully exerted on it.

"Born-vampires, however, do not remain children forever," he quickly clarified, as much to answer my question as to appease his violently trembling daughters. He started to stroke them calmingly and coo in soft whispers that everything was alright. "Although the outward process is slow, eventually they will grow up into responsible adults, and are comparatively extremely teachable," he said, beaming down at Lucretia and Titania with fatherly pride at how far they had already come and their immense potential for the future. "They may be somewhat wild at first, as all children are," he spoke with contented nostalgia over earlier, more rambunctious years of his daughters' immortal lives. "But it is a manageable wildness, and it does not persist eternally."

_So born-vampires would eventually grow up. But since immortal children could not, they had to be destroyed—I guess that made sense_. But from all of Titania's and Lucretia's fearful reactions, I was led to assume that they had been mistaken for immortal children before. And why wouldn't they—_how could anyone, even Aro, tell the difference?_

"…But how do you know… if you find a young vampire that you haven't watched grow… how do you know whether they're an immortal child or a born-vampire?" I asked, desperately hoping Aro would not simply say something horrific like "we guess," and actually had some sort of surefire method for distinguishing slowly growing children from utterly frozen ones.

Aro looked a little shocked that I hadn't figured it out already. "Through my gift, of course," he clarified, bewildered that I wouldn't have deduced as much, especially after having spent two decades in his thoughts.

I wanted to slap myself for the second time today—_no duh, with one touch he would be able to see their whole lives, and by extension, whether or not they had grown as vampires during that time._ I kept forgetting how nifty his power was, because it was really quite the double-edged sword, just as much of a curse as it was a blessing.

"How long does it take… for them to grow up?" I questioned, curious as to how old his daughters really were, and how long it would take them to become the full-fledged adults that Aro seemed absolutely certain they would eventually blossom into. They did not look more than six or seven years of age. But given that Aro had said their growth was slow, perhaps even glacial in its pacing, knowing of their species' similarities with ice, they could be decades or even centuries old, despite barely reaching past the development of toddlers. I hated to think that the terrible-twos had possibly lasted for several decades, and both pitied and admired Aro for being so patient with their lethargic maturing process.

"Ah… it varies. But it usually takes between a century and a half to two centuries until they reach full maturity." He sighed wistfully, as though that was such a short time and he wished that he could both cherish his children as tiny and perfectly adorable forever. "Titania and Lucretia are barely fifty," he spoke as though that time was almost nothing, and I suppose to him, it was.

If there was one thing I had learned about people—humans and vampires alike, is that one's perception of time was largely based on how old they were. So the best way to get an accurate feel for how long something seemed to another (especially someone as vastly older than myself as Aro), was to calculate what percentage that span of time was out of their entire lifespan thus-far. As a three-thousand-plus-year-old vampire, some quick mental math revealed that fifty years was just shy of two-percent of his life.

By comparison two-percent of my eighteen-year-old life was approximately four months… which although not _nothing, _was an awfully short time for someone to go from infancy to middle childhood. I gasped as I realized that for a vampire to progress to full-adulthood, even if it took the full two centuries, would only take up seven-percent of Aro's durative lifespan, which translated into roughly a year and a half in my life. It was staggering to think about how he must feel—it would be like blinking and suddenly realizing that your tiny infant was now in college mastering computational physics and Mandarin Chinese.

Which also meant that the two decades I had just lived through in Aro's mind, were hardly a droplet in his ocean of lifetime memories. And I hadn't even lived every moment! Thankfully Aro had decided to censor his memories as he shared them with me, editing out his feedings (besides that one instance with Carlisle), his killings and any sexual encounters he might have had during that time. But having felt nearly everything else...

I was totally blown away.

And then I was stricken with sympathetic terror—Did their aging mean that his daughters would eventually grow wrinkles and pass away, as well?

"Since born-vampires grow, does that mean that they will eventually…" I looked worriedly at his trembling daughters and swallowed thickly, "…die?"

Aro swiftly shook his head, and I released an empathic, audible sigh of relief. "Our bodies do not break down with age, as humans do. Once they attain it, my daughters will remain at the appearance of their prime for the rest of their existences," he explained with a reverential smile, as though silently thanking the gods that he would not be cruelly forced to watch his children pass away before him.

"And you've seen this happen…?" I asked curiously.

"Many times," he responded coolly.

Intrigued, my inquisitive brown eyes quickly scanned the crowd of antsy cloaked figures congregated around the edges of the room, searching for any other young vampires like Lucretia and Titania, or any which bore obvious resemblance to Aro. But although a wide range of ages and ethnicities were present, none of the immortals my examining gaze fell upon seemed to fit the bill—at least not as far as my inferior senses could tell. I knew that there were other potential parents besides Aro and his wife among the Volturi—for he was hardly the only one mated. I had also noticed the silver band Caius wore on his left ring finger earlier today, and knew from Aro's memories that he was married to a lovely strawberry blonde named Athenodora. But none of the unshrouded faces glittering in the rectangular shafts of light looked much like a combination of them either.

I chewed on my lower lip, confused. _Where were these children now?_

Aro, noticing my bewilderment, gave both of his daughters one last, lingering touch before breaking away from their desperate clutching and floating majestically closer to where I stood. My breath momentarily hitched in my throat as my weak human nose caught the barest hint of his alluring scent.

"The daughter my wife, Sulpicia gave birth to only a few short months after that last memory I showed you has long since grown. She left us roughly a century ago," he sighed pensively, as though somewhat pained by her departure from the coven, but his features also flickered contradictingly with understanding. He seemed to comprehend that, although he had no desire to relinquish his precious princess, she had developed into a fully-fledged adult and needed to follow her own path.

"Additionally, I have witnessed a great number of other born-vampires maturing both within these halls and around the world. For my wife and I are hardly the only ones to desire offspring," Aro explained as though it were the most natural thing in the world. He cast a glance, heavy-laden with disapproval, towards Edward—most probably recalling Rosalie's profound maternal instincts, and Edward's pungent distaste towards her answering them.

Edward gritted his teeth and a low snarl rumbled in the base of this throat in response to Aro's reproachful gaze.

"…But Victoria and James…" I protested weakly, my resolve to deny what was rapidly becoming crystal clear faltering and sputtering out with my failing words.

"I said that my wife and I were not the _only _immortals to wish for children. Not that _every_ mated couple of our kind desired them," Aro summarily clarified.

Well I guess that would explain why the formerly furiously in-love couple had never been accompanied by any obvious offspring during our few hazardous encounters. Though, I still didn't get it. From Alice's current straining expression, Esme's natural fit as a mother-figure for the Cullen family, and Rosalie's passionately vocalized desire to conceive, it seemed to me that all female vampires wished to be mothers. But perhaps that was simply another strange anomaly about the Cullen family.

Or even an obsession triggered by a subconscious knowledge that childbearing should be an _option _for them, at least. The fact that they had been fed flagrant lies about their infertility, but _knew _deep, deep down that having children was something they should be capable of, would probably cause a great deal of inner turmoil. Perhaps, even a primal longing for that which should be rightfully available to them, but was inexplicably denied.

Aro continued. "Many human pairs forego reproduction for a variety of reasons, even though it is necessary for their continued survival. Because we are perfectly capable of propagating our kind through other means, the incidence of our kind desiring such a thing is much rarer—the instincts to become parents are weaker, more easily overridden by the vast inconveniences vampire-born children present."

I swiftly turned my curious eyes towards the twins again, and pondered the paltry information I had learned about them. Particularly, I thought of the fact that their aging progressed at an agonizing, centurial pace, and that—although Aro had claimed it was "manageable"—they were somewhat wild during the early years. And then it all made sense.

Victoria and James had lived nomadically, mostly out in the wilderness, from what I understood, rather than safely holed away underground as the Volturi did. And they had no strong, lasting ties with any other vampires, except perhaps Laurent, to assist them in caring for a tiny, nigh-indestructible, petulant and thirsty little monster. The effort just to keep the young toddler from exposing vampirekind by slaughtering whenever it was hungry, would be difficult enough. But to also have to deal with childish antics, and later teenage rebellion, (both also probably enhanced by their vampirism) would be exhausting. Only the most resourceful and self-sacrificing of vampires would be able to endure it, I realized.

"So it's extremely rare for vampires to have kids, right?" I asked, just to make sure.

But Aro gently shook his head, a few strands of his midnight black hair caressing my face as they whirled beautifully around us. "Atypical, is perhaps a better description. The word 'rare' makes it sound like it almost never happens. But that is not the case."

Suddenly Aro twisted and lifted his right arm towards the ornate wooden exit door through which Caius and several others had departed minutes before. He then moved across the room and settled his hand on the shoulder of a tall, pale woman of Greek descent standing amid the crowd. She had strawberry blonde hair which fell in thick curls all the way down her slender back.

"Caius and his wife have also become parents," Aro declared.

_Caius? A dad? _I was surprised that the wrathful, sadistic immortal would choose to become a father. I had come to understand from Aro's memories that he was the most ruthless and instinctual of the Volturi. So I didn't really believe Aro, until my eyes finally focused more intently on the woman he was pointing at.

From Aro's memories I recognized her as Athenodora, and was delighted to notice that her hair—which had become freakishly brittle and had broken off into a short, spiky disarray much like Edward and Alice's while she was a part of Carlisle's experiment, was now long, luscious and strong. There was a healthy white glow to her skin, which was faint in my unfocused human vision. But now that I knew it was there, and had seen the stark contrast between it and Carlisle's greenish pallor through an ancient vampire's keen eyes, it was utterly impossible to miss. She was extremely thin, angular, and like most modern fashion supermodels, she was extremely flat-chested and lacked almost all evidence of typical feminine curves—the visual antithesis of motherhood.

And yet, even in her waxing thirst, her deep burgundy eyes were warm with a maternal compassion. I had seen that same look in my own mother's eyes—it was one that no female on earth could replicate without having the experience of giving birth to a child.

Or several—Aro had not specified how many children she and Caius had created together. I supposed it was irrelevant, as however many of them there were, evidently they were not in the room. It was highly possible that they had long since left Italy and sought territories elsewhere.

"Okay… but then how come Carlisle never noticed that vampires could have kids… at least until you told him?" I questioned. I was bewildered by the fact that Carlisle could remain so oblivious to such an important piece of information for nearly two decades of living with the apparently fertile vampires.

Aro sighed, as though he too was somewhat perplexed by this, though he answered: "The subject never came up before then. I assumed he was aware that our kind was fertile, because the evidence is really quite obvious."

I made a confused expression—_obvious how_? None of the female vampires in the castle happened to have been carrying children during those years, at least until the memories had suddenly cut off with the revelation of Sulpicia's pregnancy.

"The scent of a female vampire shifts slightly as she progresses through her… fertile cycle," Aro explained delicately.

A vivid rose blush suffused across my cheeks as I heard the ancient vampire comfortably allude to menstrual periods with unflappable ease. Felix and Demetri both blanched—at least, they looked like they would have if there was any blood to drain from their alabaster faces. Clearly they were disturbed by the turn this conversation was taking.

Aro continued, wholly oblivious to their embarrassed terror: "They do not bleed as human women do, you understand. But internally there are changes made every so often to accommodate the potential presence of a new life."

With a embarrassedly blushing face from discussing such an intimate womanly topic in front of such a large audience of men and women who were essentially complete strangers, I nodded numbly to indicate that I understood. Carlisle had mentioned casually in one of the memories I had been shown that vampires didn't create any waste fluids. All of the chemicals within, including the blood they drank, could be broken down and absorbed as energy into their tissues with almost one-hundred-percent efficiency. The infinitesimal amount of waste they did create would simply evaporate. Thus, whatever fluid accumulated in the womb of these immortal women to cushion the "baby" that may or may not be conceived there would not need to be flushed out when the process was concluded, for which I discovered I was extremely grateful.

The idea of being forced to endure the gross and painful trauma of periods for all of eternity was horrifying. Luckily, though, if I became a vampire that would not be the case, even if I did drink human blood and retain my fertility.

I resisted the urge to heave a sigh of relief. Vampires really did have everything perfect—Well, except for having murderous instincts, but I was trying hard not to think too hard about that right now. The fact that vampires could have children was all still so fascinating and new, I couldn't tolerate any terrifying ethical distractions.

"Of course, Carlisle probably never lingered in the presence of healthy female vampires long enough to notice the change in their scent," Aro mused aloud, his dexterous fingers stroking his smooth, marble-like chin. He coiled his body back into its original position, boring his mesmerizing burgundy eyes into mine before the next melodic, silky syllables left his smoldering lips. "You see," he began softly, "He trusted himself around his female test subjects because they were all unhealthy and furious with him. Healthy female vampires, however, terrified him—especially the older ones."

I cast a few frantic, worried glances at the dark-eyed women in the crowd. "Why? They weren't going to hurt him, were they?"

As my eyes flew around the room I noticed that the twenty or so human-drinking vampires congregated in this room were starting to get antsy like Caius had, shortly before he stormed out in fiery rage. They were licking the glistening venom off their blindingly white teeth, and sending dark, murderous looks in my direction as the conversation between myself and Aro wore on much longer than they had expected. My last worried look settled on Aro, whose piercing eyes were steadily growing darker. He was getting very thirsty, I could tell, and his body was reacting predictably to my delicious presence. I stiffened with fear, as he unconsciously flicked his pink tongue over the corner of his lips to catch the clear, thick liquid dripping there, worried that he was considering me as dinner.

But as he too, took notice of the effects my tantalizing scent was having on him, instead of lunging, Aro cautiously floated a few steps backward and turned to face the ravenous crowd behind him. So quickly I nearly missed it, he waved a hand in the direction of the most agitated vampires, a tiny flicker of movement. It apparently signaled that they were free to leave and seek food as soon as they desired to, because as soon as he made it, a few vampires swiftly marched out of the room in response, with a couple more trailing hesitantly after. A party of eight or so vampires in total dashed out of the room and tore hungrily down the hallway after their prey, their feral, gleeful snarls echoing off the high stone walls.

Aro completely ignored them and took another few steps back as he spun back around and shook himself slightly to snap himself out of his thirst.

He kept going with our conversation as though nothing had occurred. "Not physically, no." Aro clarified, letting me know that the women Carlisle had lived amidst did not mean any harm. "But when we consume our natural sustenance, our pheromones are stronger, and they only increase in potency with age," he explained placidly. "Normally, our kind is only slightly more affected by it than mortals are with each other's scents, because we all smell heavenly. But since Carlisle's own pheromones were weak, the effects our scents could have on him were staggering."

I struggled to process the implications of his words—until it hit me like a ton of bricks.

_Is that why I'm ridiculously attracted to him? _I wondered. _Because of his pheromones? If they really are as potent as he suggests, then I guess I can't really blame myself, it's just chemistry, nothing more, nothing less. But that also means the attraction I'm feeling is totally one-sided. _

_Which of course it is, because he has a wife,_ I chided myself.

_Damn it. _

"Something else troubles you though," he remarked observantly.

Inwardly I cursed my extremely readable face, because I desperately wanted to weasel out of this one. Of course now that he was unnervingly fascinated by my secret thoughts, I couldn't. Aro didn't take "no" for an answer.

"Okay so… this is really awkward, but… do you and… _your wife _use birth control or something, or…" As soon as the words left my lips I wished I could take them back—it really was not my place to ask, but my burning curiosity, as per usual, got ahead of me this time.

"Ah… you wonder why, in my thousands of years of marriage, why I only have three children," he breathed comprehendingly, apparently completely unoffended by my massively personal question. Edward, on the other hand looked like he was going to be sick, and Felix and Demetri's darkening eyes looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets from horrified surprise.

"..Er… yeah…" I nodded embarrassedly. _I really need to go bury myself alive right now because Aro is way more comfortable with these sorts of things than me, and he's a biological male—a biological male who is probably the only one who can truthfully say that he knows what menstruation and childbirth are like, because he had most definitely experienced them through his gift, but still… _

"You have likely already deduced that no physical barrier would ever be strong enough to withstand the… ah… _incredible pressure_," he explained as politely as possible, making it painfully clear in the least explicit way that no condoms on earth could withstand vampiric strength.

I nodded fiercely with a tomato-colored face.

"And any medications made by humans for that purpose would be incompatible with our physiology—as our chemical makeup is entirely different from that of mortals," he added, to clarify as to why pregnancy-preventing pills would be ineffective in counteracting their natural processes.

I nodded again. That made sense.

"Therefore, it is true that, if my wife and I were human and had no means of preventing conception, we would have produced many, _many _children. But because of our immortal state, processes like hair growth and fertility occur at a much slower rate than that of humans," he stipulated scientifically.

Suddenly I recalled what I had learned about vampire hair-growth and cell-growth in general from Aro's early 18th century memories—that in healthy vampires all cells continued to function much as they had when they were human, though the growth process was much, _much_ slower. I guessed that meant ovulation wasn't a monthly occurrence.

Aro pressed on, as much to satisfy my curiosity as to vex Felix and Demetri. They seemed to be debating whether to drop the wriggling arms in their hands in order to plug their ears, or retain their grasp on Edward's flailing appendages but be forced to endure the rest of this awkward conversation.

"Female fertility is also greatly impacted by one's diet" he explained. "The blood of a singer makes our women the most fertile, and while female vampires can conceive while consuming lesser human blood, it is less likely. Thus, depending on what my wife consumes, I can predict the likelihood of conception and either try to avoid it or instigate it."

A cruelly erotic smirk contorted the shape of Aro's beatific lips as his thoughts most probably drifted lustfully back towards the white hot memories of intimate moments with his wife which I had mercifully been forbidden to experience. If at all possible, the blush suffusing my face grew twice as dark, before it spilled hotly over my neck and visibly reddened tips of my ears—this was just too much.

"Also… there are… spells for these sorts of things, Isabella," he added casually as an afterthought, with an errant toss of his hand, as if to suggest that it was a rather irrelevant detail.

_Spell? _There was that word again.

"You still haven't explained what that's about. What spells?" I asked anxiously, absolutely dying to know what Aro was going on about. Clearly, he believed Edward to be under some sort of enchantment—"the spell must have disturbed your mind further than I thought," he had said. And now he was claiming that vampires could be bewitched by some unknown method and unidentified source so that they would not conceive. But I still had no idea who was casting these "spells", how that even worked, and what that really meant.

And I absolutely hated being in the dark—no matter how horrific the truth was, I was determined to face all of it.

"Patience, Isabella, I have a few more memories to show you, after Carlisle leaves Volterra, which should explain everything quite nicely," he soothed in a velvety lullaby of a voice. He brought his hands together and motioning downward as if to demonstrate the need for me to quell my insatiable drive to know for a while longer. "Are you willing to see them?" he asked delightedly, evidently more of a demand than a suggestion, but I had become accustomed to his manipulation enough to no longer be bothered by it.

I was, however, very worried for my safety, as his thirst was starting to grow rather severe.

"More memories? But… but… you're—" For some reason I couldn't say it. _Starving. Famished. Hungry for human blood. In dire need of a good meal, or else I might become the meal. _

Aro frowned slightly and pondered my terrified observation for a moment. From his deeply chagrined expression, it seemed that he was also well aware of this fact, and how it was effecting himself and the others who had, in their staunch loyalty to him, decided to wait to dine until he brought the remainder of the tourists into this room.

"Anyone else who is unable to abide their thirst a while longer may leave, so long as they corner their meals discreetly and leave enough for the rest of us," Aro announced suddenly in a rich, magnificent voice.

He swept his arms dramatically towards his sides again, as before, to indicate that this option was open to all, without fear of judgment or retribution. I again cringed at the thought of the innocent men and women, who had all looked so innocently happy, so very blissfully unaware of the terrible fate which awaited them. But not a single vampire moved.

Instead, like Alice, they had decided to hold their breaths and wait it out—a decision which made Aro's delicate eyebrows quirk in amazed disbelief.

"Very well. But if any of you attempt to harm Isabella now, or ever, know that I will consider it a crime of the highest order, and there will be no mercy on my part," he chewed out viciously, his dark eyes brimming with a caustic threatening emotion.

Every powerful sinew and tendon in Aro's body coiled and rippled into rigid, furious lines. At once all the vampires hanging around the perimeter of the room glided backwards infinitesimally, the hushed murmur of frenzied whispered between them abruptly vanishing into deafening silence. They seemed to understand that Aro was essentially saying _act now or forever hold your peace, _and that there would be deadly consequences if they defied his wishes.

I gulped at the savage dominance display I had just witnessed.

Aro, sensing that the tenacious remainder of vampires in the room understood with perfect clarity, swiftly composed himself, straightening into a polite, authoritative stance befitting of a perfect gentleman. He then ushered his daughters to reconfigure the memory-sharing formation they had assumed previously.

The adorable little girls nodded eagerly and flitted into position without so much as a word. They quickly seized each other's hands in the center, and gazed admiringly up at the elegant, robed figure of their literal father, impatiently awaiting his command. At Aro's signal Titania gradually reached out a tiny porcelain hand to grasp his and as she did she beamed brightly, her immaculately straight teeth gleaming in the light. Aro's lips curled involuntarily into a wide, closed-lipped smile at the breath-taking sight, before he rapidly switched his gaze upwards, upon me, to ascertain if I was ready for this.

I shot him a panicked look which I hoped effectively conveyed that I needed to control my newfound abilities first, and he gave a minute nod of understanding. Exerting my strongest willpower against the stubborn, scarlet force of my mental barrier, I slowly pushed the intangible veil away from my mind, watching it ripple and billow in my mind's eye like a liquefied cape. Immediately I felt the terror of exposure wash over me as it slipped carefully away from my presence. Gritting my teeth and trying to focus on keeping my breathing even and relaxed, I shoved the shield harshly into the corner of the room, where it floated lazily, impotently; blocking nothing from no one.

When this was accomplished, I nodded heartily to express that I was ready. Almost immediately I felt the familiar tingle of five, chubby, icy fingers pressing against my outstretched palm, before I was sucked into oblivion.


	15. Chapter 14: Companionship and Tolerance

**AN: Did some pretty intense research on this one (physiological and psychiatric) so I hope I didn't get any details wrong. Social interaction is very important for human mental, emotion and even to some extent _physical _health, and of course this is a need that transfers and intensifies when they become vampires. Relationships (romantic and otherwise) between vampires are intense, and to suddenly be thrust out of a really strong one, into persistent, complete solitude can nearly literally drive them insane after a while. You'll understand what I mean when you read the chapter.**

**Also, some of you were wondering why would any vampires want to create immortal children when they could have their own? I may or may not mention it later, but it isn't really a plot point, so I've decided to share my thoughts on my profile page (they got too long to post here). **

**Anyway, sorry for the yammering. Now we'll return to our somewhat irrregularly scheduled program. :)**

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: Companionship and Tolerance**

As my senses vaguely came into focus, I realized that whoever's memories I was now experiencing was running a very high fever. Thick droplets of sweat were running all over my body and sticking to the dirty sheets I lied upon. I felt terribly fatigued, and barely able to open my eyes. My breathing came out in short, ragged gasps, and as my heart thudded weakly in my chest I realized two things: First, I was human, rather than a vampire, as I had been expecting, and second I was very, very sick—probably only hours away from death.

Whoever I was seemed to have relentingly accepted that this was their fate, especially since I could see in their, or rather "my", mind that all of my relatives, all once glowing with happiness and health, had been claimed in the wake of the unpredictable, unstoppable Spanish Influenza. My mother was one of the strongest of us, having stuck it out so long, but I had overheard the tense whispers, when the gentle-hearted nurses thought that I was asleep.

And even when the nurses didn't talk, for some reason I had always found people incredibly easy to read—almost as though their innermost thoughts were an open book. This quirk of mine betrayed the nurses' petrifying fear, their endless sorrow, and profound sense of loss as each new infection claimed yet another weary soul and stole them irretrievably away. And all the nurses' unspoken feelings plainly revealed the grim truth that my mother was slipping, and would probably be dead a few hours before myself.

Of course, at the present moment my vision was densely fogged over with the muggy haze of illness, and my eyelids felt like mountainous boulders for all the effort it took to lift them, so I wasn't making many deductions about what people were thinking right now. No… mostly I was just waiting impatiently for the pain to cease—waiting impatiently to die. I had been coughing and vomiting violently for days. Every inch of my skin was swollen and burning. My lungs were heavy with fluid. And I even occasionally experienced hemorrhages, bleeding from my nose and ears.

It was pure hell and I desperately wanted it to stop.

I wasn't sure what lied in wait for me on the other side. But at this point I figured I would face anything rather than endure any more of this pain. Also, I had been a pretty decent man and had nothing heinous to answer for, so I figured my odds of landing a comfortable place in heaven were fairly high.

And even if God was the terrifying, vindictive, sort who gleefully set "hellfire and damnation" upon all but the zealously devout, could it really get worse than this?

I highly doubted it.

But just as I was about to succumb to my fate, my crusty-blood coated ears picked up the sound of the creaky door to my private room opening. Next I heard graceful footsteps padding lightly on the cool linoleum floors, growing louder as they drew near to where I lay, impatiently begging God to simply let me die and be free from this vicious torture. In a hushed murmur, I heard a calm, masculine voice dismiss the nurses waiting anxiously at my bedside, assuring them that he would stay with me in my last moments and they did not need to pressure themselves to watch. Their high, emotional voices protested for a moment, before I heard them relent and slip quietly out of the room. They shut the heavy door behind them, leaving me alone with this compassionate, soft-spoken man, who drew even closer before the striking of his feet against the hard floor abruptly ceased.

Wearily, I hefted open my impossibly tired eyes.

A tall, platinum blonde figure, with a bright doctor's coat and a face mask hanging uselessly around his neck stood over me, apparently lost deep in thought. His brow was knitted with worry and he clasped hands apprehensively underneath his pale chin. As he gazed thoughtfully on my pathetically prone figure, I was confused for a moment until I recognized him—he was Carlisle Cullen, or "Dr. Angel" as some had called him. He had earned the divine epithet both for his dashing good looks and unprecedented medical expertise: He was the man who had managed to save many whom the other, older professionals were utterly convinced were lost causes.

Of course, for all his great knowledge, there was only so much even "Dr. Angel" could do in light of this ravaging pandemic. There was not a medicine strong enough to fight it, as of yet, and it seemed entirely up to luck whether one recovered and lived, or their condition worsened and they died. So many strong, healthy men and women had died already, and yet many weak children and feeble old people had miraculously emerged relatively unscathed—a fact which horrified and baffled most doctors.

Why "Dr. Angel" had come to visit me in my last moments I had no idea.

Usually he preferred to linger around those he could save for as long as possible, until the other doctors all-but-forced him to go home and rest, although I had noticed that curiously, he never seemed to grow tired. But I was already doomed—and I could see the understanding of that fact plainly reflected in his captivating golden eyes. _Why would he waste the precious time he could be using to save others to be with me? Was this my mother's dying wish?_ I wondered.

I had heard that he had visited her earlier today, but had not received news of her condition. Of course, from what I had gathered in the discreet glances and hurried whispers, it was very possible that she had been on the brink of death and greeted it not too long ago.

I wasn't given much time to ponder however, as the angular, chiseled face which made all the nurses swoon, switched rapidly back and forth, as if to make sure no one was watching, before his strong arms slipped effortlessly beneath my limp, nearly lifeless body. Without so much as a word, he lifted me unceremoniously off the hospital bed which had become my home for the last several weeks and adjusted my position so that I would be comfortable in his arms.

I was about to ask what he was doing, when he suddenly darted over the window behind my bed, and bent to lift the latch with his teeth—as his hands were currently occupied holding me. He then swiftly nudged the dim panes open with his shoulders pressing upwards against the dusty glass. A warm breeze of nighttime summer air rushed in to blow across my feverish face, and inexplicably, the intelligent man carrying me gently in his arms, stepped up onto the windowsill, peering thoughtfully into the grass and bushes several stories below.

_What on earth is he thinking? _I thought blearily as the man carefully surveyed the grassy terrain below us. _He can't possibly be contemplating jumping—we're much too high for that._

But jumping is exactly what he did—With a small crouch, the man leapt gracefully from my hospital room window, hugging me tightly to his broad chest as the stuffy summer air whipped around us. He landed effortlessly on both feet, without so much as a wince from the heavy impact, and took off running in some unknowable direction. As he cushioned my sickly body from the jostling of his inhuman speed, I, Bella, suddenly realized what was going on.

This was the story of Edward's transformation: Carlisle was taking him, or rather me, back to his house in order to change me away from prying eyes and listening ears.

As Edward though, I was simply baffled because I was not yet aware that Carlisle was anything other than human, and therefore my blurry thoughts were more along the lines of: W_hat sort of man can just jump out of a window like that? And he's definitely running faster than any normal person can… is he really an angel? And if so, has he come to send me quickly into death, or to save me?_

As Edward, there really was no way to be sure at this point—we could either be racing towards a miraculous revival or a hasty termination, and in this moment, I was not entirely sure which was the more alarming prospect. I had absolutely nothing left to live for and I really would prefer this horrible agony simply to end. But at the same time the idea that perhaps I could walk away from this alive was alluring in it's own right, and appealed to my suppressed survival instincts.

In the end, however, I think my desire to be done with the pain won out, and I silently begged God to let me perish from this world.

Of course, soon I was going to learn that fate had other plans.

When we finally reached the house, Dr. Cullen set me down carefully on his immaculate couch. I was almost certain I was soiling somehow it in my sickly state, covered in sweat and dried blood and weeks' old clothing, but the doctor didn't seem to care. He rushed in his inhumanly fast pace to gather a large woolen blanket which was almost a tarp for its size, and neatly spread it over the carpeted floor. As I wheezed and struggled not to vomit all over his lush upholstery, he quickly removed his white doctor's coat before tossing it halfway across the house, where it landed neatly over a brass hook. He then rolled up his shirt sleeves so rapidly that the buttons on the cuffs popped off and were lost in the lush fibers of the carpet.

Clearly he had something in mind that was going to be rather messy and I had a sneaking suspicion that it was something which involved me. I wasn't sure whether I should be terrified or elated that this doctor was preparing for some elaborate ritual—so I settled on impassive.

I had absolutely nothing left to lose—he could probably butcher me for all I cared, I just wanted to die.

As I had begun to suspect, in my foggy state of mind, as soon as he began making his preparations, the doctor scooped me up into his arms once again and settled me with impossible tenderness against the scratchy surface of the woolen blanket he'd laid out earlier.

What I did not expect however, was for him to slowly move across the surface I lied on himself to straddle my aching body on the floor, kneeling with my immobile legs trapped between his. He bent over me gradually and his cool breath spilled ticklishly across my neck as he got closer. I twitched in discomfort as the heavy weight of his tall, male form settled against my piping hot, clammy skin, and became worried as his strong hands nervously grasped the frayed edge of my striped, stained collar. _What was he doing? _His piercingly icy fingers brushed my neck delicately for a moment before they slid downwards and began to meticulously unbutton the flimsy, stained cotton shirt I wore.

Immediately I stiffened (as much as I could in my swollen, achy state) in terror. Our compromising positions and his inexplicable desire to undress me only conjured one horrific possibility in my mind. But was the "angel doctor" really so sick and twisted that he would do something like that, to a youth such as myself who was on the verge of death?

But all my fears of behind handled inappropriately by this generous man completely vanished as he stopped after undoing my third button, and at last I peered into his solemn, shining eyes. As he delicately he peeled the sweat-soaked fabric gently away from my neck, his gaze was filled with profound sadness, not perverted lust or sadistic glee. He looked like he pitied my agonizing plight and was going to do his best to alleviate it—although the path to freedom from my pain would not be an easy one.

I wanted to groan. The notion of having to endure something horribly unpleasant to gain another chance at life was utterly distasteful to me at this moment—I had nothing and no one to live for—But it seemed that this doctor was determined.

Or at least he was trying to be. There was a hint of guilty indecision flickering in his bizarre, honey-colored irises, as though he was fairly sure this was a very, _very _bad idea, and a great portion of him was unwilling to go through with it. In the end, though I could tell his extreme trepidation was won over by something else that was fiercely strong and unwavering—Was it… _loneliness?_

While the man's head dipped slowly, drawing his angelic face closer to my perspiration-soaked neck, I wondered for a moment, what sort of unorthodox cure he believed he was using. I also wondered whether it would be worth it to endure the evident discomfort I was bound to face as a result of this strange treatment, in order to escape from this plague alive. Perhaps, I could find a new reason for living—make new friends, develop new passions and aspirations, go on toward greatness… Perhaps all was not lost, after all.

For a split second, as I gazed up into his beautiful, sorrowful features as he held me softly pinned me to the floor, I allowed myself to hope.

And then he lunged, sinking his teeth violently into the soft flesh of my neck.

…

"Loneliness? _Loneliness?_" I repeated, unable to believe what I had just discovered through the strange new power I had recently acquired upon waking a few hours ago from the horrible three-day nightmare of full-body, hot fiery pain. "_That's_ why you made me into this… this…" I gestured wildly with both hands towards my entire being, unwilling to use the devilish term Carlisle was thinking in his mind. "…_thing?"_

Carlisle looked down at me where I lied on the woolen blanket sadly with desperately shining eyes—_Oh no, not this again. _I hated it when this man got all guilt-complexy.

_Edward… I am terribly sorry. I have been without anyone for so long…_ he thought, turning his nigh-teary eyes away from mine shamefully. He gazed forlornly out the living room window of his modest home, where a few thin shafts of sunlight were slipping between the pale curtains and throwing distracting beams of rainbow light in every direction. _Vampires need companionship as much as humans do… _his thoughts sought to justify himself. _And for two hundred years I was unable to find any who would amicably keep me company… _My vision was arrested with a few flickers of himself and several vampires I did not recognize, all dressed in 18th century fashion and prowling about in underground castle halls, as he thought.

This new power would definitely take some getting used to.

"And you thought I would be your friend because you _gave me no other choice?_" I barked furiously as I quickly sat up. I was enraged that this man would assume that simply because I had been on the brink of death and in some horribly twisted way he had "saved" me, that I would automatically warm up to him and gushily spill all my secrets. That was not how friendship worked.

I was particularly irate however, not because my humanity had been violently stripped from me to force me into the position of a trusted confidant, but because I saw in his mind what he had been looking for. If Carlisle had merely desired a friend, and was not too picky about the details, perhaps I could accept the cruel fate I had been dealt with greater ease.

But simply having someone to talk to was apparently not enough. Carlisle wanted the perfect replacement for the flawlessly pale, black-haired, and red-eyed man which repeatedly occupied his thoughts. He wanted someone witty, intelligent, perceptive, well-read, and willing to devote lots of time to in-depth discussions. Someone with a unique perspective and a quirky grin when something was particularly fascinating. Someone who was musically talented, as the ancient red-eyed one had been, and preferably someone who was not entrenched in Carlisle's same unyielding moral perspectives, but one who at the same time would reverently respect his decision to peruse an unnatural diet.

In other words, he wanted a carbon-copy of the man himself.

Of course, since the ancient scarlet-eyed man swirling obsessively through Carlisle's thoughts was currently thousands of miles away, and had expressly forbidden Carlisle to ever even step foot within the same city for some unknown, but apparently rather heinous past offense—having him as a companion was not an option. But in absence of an adequate alternative, I supposed that Carlisle had decided to "make do" with me, despite the glaring differences between myself and his former friend.

I supposed that the man in Carlisle's thoughts and I were not totally dissimilar—curiously, we were both telepaths, and I was quite talented for my age at playing the piano. But when it came to the mental capacity that Carlisle sought, I was severely lacking. It was not that I was a blubbering idiot, by any stretch of the term. At least I thought myself rather observant and quick to pick up on things, and I had received a fairly good education (as much as any seventeen year old boy could dream of during this time period). But the knowledge I had gained so far, during my short mortal existence was wholly inadequate to keep up at the philosophical level that the centuries-old creature before me operated on. The deep questions Carlisle had unwittingly bombarded me with (as they were swirling frenziedly in his mind) from the first moment of my coherency were _way_ over my head.

And it would be a long time before I was even willing to consider having those sorts of discussions with him anyway—we were _not _friends, that was for sure. The man had _bitten _me three days ago, and until only a few hours ago I had been twitching and howling in unsurpassed agony because of it.

While it was true that in the process of whatever diabolical metamorphosis had just occurred, my life-threatening illness had been cured, that fact alone was hardly enough to foster a healthy, trusting relationship with this man. Surely I could see in this thoughts that he was positively miserable… Being alone for two hundred years, utterly without anyone to confide in, or even really speak to regularly outside of a few clipped conversations at work, had wrought rather adverse effects on his mental state. And his transformation of me had been his last desperate attempt to prevent himself from slipping into insanity. But I found it hard to pity him.

At least, not while my throat was on fire.

The sorrowful blond vampire standing over me blinked a few times in confusion. He had momentarily forget that I could hear everything he was thinking without ever having to touch him, since he was greatly accustomed to telepathy being a tactile power, rather than a proximal one, and I had only discovered my powers a few hours before. After a moment he composed himself and responded.

"…You are right," he sighed, his voice heavy with the burden of self-loathing. "I deeply apologize. Please forgive me," he begged, before turning his head away from me guiltily, gazing up at the sterile white ceiling of his humble abode in order to avoid the sting of my steely gaze.

_I should not have done this, _he thought morosely._ Those centuries of loneliness were unbearable but this… this is worse… What have I done? Did I not swear that I would never inflict the pain of thirst on another? Am I really so weak to let my solitude override my compassion? Dear God, how could I be so selfish?_ he implored the heavens grievingly. He swallowed as his harried mind struggled to reconcile the split-second decision he had rushed into during a particularly strong bout of loneliness, at the vague urging of my deceased mother. _It is true that she told me to do everything within my power to save her son… but that is hardly an excuse. I should have asked for his consent first. What if he wanted to die, and I have now taken that option away from him? _

That last thought stunned me—it was true that I had wanted to die. But as I struggled to keep my hands away from the scorching dryness building in my neck, I was starting to doubt that I still wanted that. Certainly it was terrifying that I had been changed into a creature whose every instinct screamed at me to light off into the distance as fast as possible and sink my teeth into the nearest human being, especially during a time of pandemic, when I was certain that he number of healthy humans to feed on was dwindling. But did I still want my existence to end?

I was not sure.

Killing humans to satisfy my thirst was proving to be a much more tantalizing prospect than I had ever imagined—it surprised me that the more I turned over the idea in my mind, the less horrified I was by it. Although when I had first become aware of my transformation I had been utterly mortified by the concept, now it simply seemed natural—it seemed _right_. Despite the fact that less than seventy-two hours ago I had been a part of the mortal coil, the notion of being a man-eating predator did not disturb me as much as might have expected. The vivid fantasies my mind painted of tearing savagely into the soft, warm throats of the local townspeople and eagerly lapping up every last drop of their delicious blood made venom pool excitedly on my tongue and threaten to spill over my lips. But I never grimaced or cringed away from them.

Because I felt no guilt over them.

There was no conflict in my conscience. Although peripherally, I understood that most humans saw killing their fellow mortals to be an atrocious crime, as the minutes of blazing thirst ticked by, my own conscience did not sting in the slightest. I felt about as much moral confliction over the subject as I did towards drinking water—a fact which stumped me and made me a little concerned. Was it a good thing that I did not suffer to reconcile vexing moral issues as Carlisle did? Or was it some indicator that I was, in fact, a soulless monster, and Carlisle was not?

There was really no way to be certain—but ultimately it was irrelevant at the moment.

Right now, my first priority was quelling the sweltering hunger ravaging my throat—completely. And in order to do that, since I had absolutely no idea what I was doing, and was almost guaranteed to make a scene if I were left to my own devices, I needed Carlisle to mentor me on how to hunt properly. Of course, since I wanted my thirst satisfied entirely, that meant that drinking animal blood was not an option, (for I had seen the unsatisfaction it caused others in his thoughts). And since I was a newborn, wild and without control, I wouldn't have the restraint necessary to simply draw off a small amount of blood non-lethally from several different human victims. I would inevitably end up killing the first person I tried to feed from.

Which presented a considerable dilemma: I needed Carlisle's assistance to feed, but I wanted to feed in a manner that was wholly unpalatable to him.

I swallowed nervously. If this was going to work—if I was somehow going to manage to persuade him to help me do the very thing he had sworn never to participate in, I would have to do a bit of sucking-up first.

"I… may not be able to completely forgive you just yet," I iterated cautiously, careful to speak in the gentlest tone I could muster so as to not upset him. "But I will probably get over it eventually, and at least for now, I do not hate you," I added dishonestly, because for at least at the moment, I _did_ hate him, though I was hoping to appease the emotionally volatile creature before me. "I can sympathize with the loneliness you must have felt."

"Truly?" He spoke softly. His tense fingers were trembling slightly in his lap and his unnerving yellow eyes were positively glowing with wholly undeserved joy and hope.

Biting my venom-soaked tongue to keep an acerbic "no" from slipping out, I gave a curt nod, and Carlisle's pale features exploded into a brilliant rainbow of ecstatic delight.

Before there was anything I could do to stop him, the doctor's thin, sinewy arms wrapped fiercely around my back and heartily shoved my immortal body face-first into his chest. His powerful grip crushed me into an exuberant embrace, hugging me so tightly that I was certain that had I been human, the buttons on his shirt would have left sizable dents in my cheeks. Thankfully, in my newborn state, I was much stronger than the older vampire, so I was able to detangle myself from the awkwardly intimate position rather quickly. But when I finally extricated myself and rapidly seated myself on the opposite couch, so that I was clearly out of arm's reach, the man was still beaming at me like an idiot.

"Yes. I am not mad at you," I breathed out, exasperatedly. Another lie. "I have seen how the other… members of our kind treat you," I said with a touch more sympathy now, my first genuine, honest statement, recalling the images I had seen of vampires ganging up on Carlisle and nearly tearing him apart when he told them of his ways, only barely managing to escape by severely disorienting them with his gift. "So I understand why you did it."

Carlisle's rejoicing smile stretched even wider, and my lips threatened to contort into a cavernous frown—he was not going to like what I was going to say next.

"But I will not be drinking animal blood." I was adamant on that front at least.

Carlisle simply looked dumfounded by my declaration, staring at me incredulously, unable to believe that those words had come out of my mouth. He hadn't brought up the topic aloud so he was utterly unable to imagine the reason why I would say such things. He didn't look upset—_yet_. Just confused.

I hurried on in my explanation before he could protest. "I will stay with you, if you still want someone to talk to," I offered as a compromise to the poor, miserable man. "But see no reason to fight my natural instincts."

Carlisle's face fell, and I swore I could hear his unbeating heart produce a small "thud" as it dropped in his ribcage from utter shock.

"But…" _Edward, how can you even bear to think of doing such things? You were a human yourself only a few days ago. How can you be so callous toward human slaughter when you have not had very long to distance yourselves from them? How can you think it acceptable to eat… to kill what you used to be so quickly?_

He truly could not comprehend it—evidently he himself still had not gotten over his humanity, despite having lived much longer as an immortal hematophage than an omnivorous mortal. Although he could not afford to grow too close to any of them because of the high risk of exposure, humans were most stalwartly categorized in his mind as "friends", not food.

"Because I have seen you think about it—about those test subjects back in Italy," I confessed. The man who had inducted me into this undead existence stood back in shock with the knowledge that I had seen such things in his hastily flickering thoughts. "What they went through…" I continued with a dark, accusatory gaze, brimming with sympathetic rage at the horrors I had seen them endure at his hands. "That is what I will face if I choose to eat like you, isn't it?"

I did not even need my abilities to confirm it—his facial expression said all I needed to know.

Carlisle pursed his lips and pointedly looked the other way. "…Unless you are another anomaly, like myself and Heinrich…" he offered feebly, as an option of impossible odds.

"Yes, but you know that is not likely," I bit out caustically, clenching my newly reinforced teeth. I was certain they were brightly glistening with fresh venom, because my thirst was getting rather intense.

"Yes, I do," he conceded sadly, before his thoughts overtook his verbal admissions. _This really was a terrible idea. It seems I have created a vastly different sort of companion than what I had originally in mind—this one will probably guilt-trip me for eternity. Which I probably deserve. I have tried to make penance for my previous wrongs…_ he thought, and briefly I saw a flash of Carlisle's old friend's face and those of his test subjects, all golden-eyed like Carlisle, but howling in agonized fear and pain and scratching savagely at thick iron doors…_ but now I have sinned again—bringing this curse upon another because I could no longer bear to be alone. I cannot take back what I have done, and I have not yet created a viable substitute for human blood. But can I really force him to endure the pain that the others went through? _

"Carlisle, I understand why you did it, and I understand how you feel about drinking human blood," I said firmly, trying to be as polite and understanding as possible while still heartily protesting his crushing shame, and trying to dredge him out of his loneliness-induced depression. Apparently, being alone for two centuries was not particularly stellar for one's mental health: Carlisle had spent almost all of these past three days either moping around listlessly with a trudging sadness that was suffocating, or manically firing off unfollowable rounds of complicated questions in his head, with a gleeful craziness that was annoying and disturbing. "But should I not be free to make my own decisions?"

Carlisle ran his fingers nervously through his tousled, silvery-blonde locks, and set his pallid lips into a hard line of displeasure. But eventually he offered a shallow bob of his head to indicate that he understood. _This isn't perhaps the most ideal arrangement, but I have learned from the past that it will only infuriate him if I attempt to coerce him into following my methods. No, it would be much better for him to make his own decision, unimpeded by my manipulations. _

"Of course. You may feed as you wish," he said with surprising calm. _As long as my identity does not fall under scrutiny as a result and I am free to make my own choices as well. _"But I must make the stipulations that no humans are to be killed in this town, and you must not criticize me for my dietary choices."

_I had expected as much. _"I can agree to that," I responded amicably—I was willing to accept any terms at this point, for the thirst was beginning to grow rather severe, and I had to clench my teeth to stifle a animalistic hiss of displeasure as the fire burned hotter. "There is one issue, however…"

"And what is that?" _He already agreed to leave my choices alone… and I agreed to respect his… what is left? Does he want to leave me and go on his own, to seek others who will feed like him? No he promised to stay as well…_

I decided to interrupt his thoughts. "I do not know how to hunt," I admitted nervously, dragging my diamond hard fingers across the outside of my blazing throat. "And… I am getting rather thirsty…"

A look of sheer, unbridled horror washed over Carlisle's face—_I am going to have to supervise him while he slaughters innocent people? I suppose I really do not have any other choice. As his creator, I am responsible for his well-being and most especially for his understanding of the need to protect the secret of our existence. I should have thought of this when I made him… _

For a moment, I worried that Carlisle was going to insist that I choose his diet instead, at least until I was in control enough to hunt on my own. But after a few more seconds of similar, regretful thoughts, the tenor of his inner sentiments suddenly shifted. _Surely, it may not be pleasant to observe, but can I not at least be accommodating to his desires… the way that Aro was with mine? I tolerated the deaths he wrought back then—can I not tolerate them now? I, myself, have sworn never to harm or kill, but this one is convicted otherwise. And I would very much like to have him as my confidant even if he decides to live a different lifestyle than mine. Eventually I will share my fears with him, but I will not impede on his free will, especially when it is to choose the, regrettably more physiologically logical option. _

I was totally stunned by what I was hearing—Carlisle, though firmly personally opposed what he saw as human murder, was slowly stepping towards assisting me in obtaining my first, much-delayed, meal of human blood. He was going to help me kill someone, because health-wise, for me, it made the most sense.

It was baffling, and it made me realize just how desperate for companionship he really was.

"Very well, let us find you someone to eat."

…

"You made another vampire?" I observed irately, pointing an accusatory finger at the lovely, subtly curvy woman carried in Carlisle's arms over the threshold of the ramshackle house he and I had shared for the past couple of years. Her skin was just as blindingly white as his and my own, her eyes were a brilliant crimson, and her lips were ever so slightly stained with the evidence of recent feeding. "Am I not good enough for you?" I bellowed angrily, furious that so quickly after I had assumed my position as Carlisle's companion, he had created another to replace me.

"No Edward, this is not about you being an inadequate companion," Carlisle assured me in soothing tones as he lightly skimmed his fingers over the woman's soft caramel-brown tresses. "In these few short years, I have been much better, thanks to you," he said genuinely, with a soft, compassionate smile as he carried the woman gently into the living room and settled her slowly, reverently against the plush fabric of his sofa. _You have been an excellent help, Edward, I am very much indebted to you for helping to restore my mental well-being. _ "But surely you know that a man cannot have only male companions for his entire life… Esme and I… well…" _I love her, Edward. She is the female counterpart I have sought for my entire life. I intend to marry her and become her husband in every sense of the word._

They gazed into each other's eyes lovingly, and I wished I could be sick.

Especially as Carlisle's eyes briefly slid lower, hovering admiringly over her soft, round physique and his thoughts flooded with desire—a respectful desire (for he most definitely viewed this woman as a stunning, valuable individual, and not merely an object to gratify his lusts)—but a sexual desire nonetheless, which perturbed me to be privy to. It seemed so vastly private; sacred, even, and I felt horribly dirty for having unwittingly trespassed on it.

At least until I suddenly recognized her, having seen her from time to time when I grudgingly visited Carlisle at work, as Esme Evenson, the wife of Charles Evenseon—or at least she had been his wife until she was declared deceased along with her newborn child in the paper this morning. Her human identity startled me because it was entirely unlike Carlisle to romantically pursue a married woman. But the intention to make this newly transformed woman his wife was firm and crystal clear in his mind, strong enough to the point that I highly doubted that they had not been at least somewhat involved with each other in a less-than-strictly-friendly fashion before her supposed "death".

"Carlisle and I never did anything serious while I was still married to Charles," the woman suddenly said, seeing the disgusted confusion written clearly on my face. "But he has noticed that my husband was... not very gentle with me and comforted me when I came to the hospital with severe injuries. After some time, our conversations grew more intimate, and when my baby died… I realized that I wanted out, and I wanted to be with Carlisle—but marriage is until death do us part…"

"So you faked her death, and transformed her so that you two could… court each other?" I asked Carlisle and his thoughts immediately confirmed my morbid hypothesis. "Something to that effect," he clarified verbally.

"That's a bit… underhanded, if you ask me. But I see that you genuinely love her and she loves you back so I won't stand in the way," I said while anxiously wringing my hands and taking a few steps backward from the unnervingly amorous couple to give them some space and to visually indicate that if they wanted me to leave the house permanently in order to give them the privacy they most definitely desired, that I would do so, albeit grudgingly.

Carlisle's congenial expression twisted into a small frown as he noticed my trepidation. "Edward, you are still welcome to live with us. Our relationship does not need to be fractured by what Esme and I have." _I am sure she would be delighted to have you stay, Edward. _

Upon hearing those words in his thoughts, I was elated—Carlisle wasn't going to get rid of me after all. At least not right away. Although I had originally been stubbornly cold and unwilling to open up to the man who had bestowed immortality upon me without my consent, over the years, I had began to warm up to his companionship and a true relationship, almost mentor-student like, or even father-son like, developed between us. And I had absolutely no desire to suddenly leave that behind. But I found it hard to believe that the soon-to-be-newlyweds would want much to do with me for the next couple of months.

"I will stay, if you still want me here, that is. But I do have one question."

Carlisle asked, "What is it?" _Is he concerned that Esme and I will neglect him? Because I think rather the opposite will happen—as much as I have begun to see him as my son, she will probably eventually feel the same and seek to spoil him rotten with her maternal coddling. _

I ignored Carlisle's thoughts and pressed on. "What is she going to eat?" I asked, worried for the battered woman's health.

Carlisle looked nervously over at Esme, who ashamedly flickered her eyes shut, and then Carlisle looked back at me. Suddenly I knew the answer before he even spoke it. "Esme has decided to hunt humans as well."

I was stunned—the crazy, gold-eyed vampire's bride-to-be was going to drink human blood? Even crazier, he was going to let her kill for it?

_I know that it is not ideal, Edward. I would prefer us to be on the same page on this matter, but I love her, and this is her decision. I will not begrudge her the right to eat as she wishes. It… distresses me that she wishes to kill… but we discussed this at length before I ever transformed her. She has promised that if I ever am successful in discovering a viable alternative, she will be the first to switch over. _

I nodded. "It looks like Carlisle already assisted you today," I noted, pointing to the reddish stain unevenly painting her lips, and Esme quickly flung an ashamed hand across her mouth to cover the evidence of her recent feeding. I struggled not to roll my eyes—there was no need to hide such things around me, for I was undisturbed by the evidence of mortal demise. Carlisle on the other hand... "But in the future, he will probably not be accompanying us. I am tame enough now to feed on my own, so I can take over from here."

"Thank you, Edward." _I may be willing to tolerate your choices, but it is hard on me to watch those I love consume my mortal friends. If you would help Esme, I would greatly appreciate it. _

I nodded discreetly, to let Carlisle know that I had heard his thoughts without alerting Esme to the silent exchange.

"Are you certain you will not be joining us next month…?" Esme said sadly, looking pleadingly into Carlisle's eyes. _I know how he feels, and I agreed to support him, despite knowing what he is suffering, but I had hoped, when he said that Edward could help me select criminals, rather than innocents to feed from, that Carlisle might be persuaded to adopt our healthier way of living because no guiltless humans would be harmed. I do not like that he seems to disapprove of Edward's methods as well... because that might mean he disapproves of me. _

"Yes, I am certain. You may feed as you wish, but I… I cannot." he assured, his eyes were burning with sorrow. "I am a vegetarian," he added with a wry smile. Esme looked confused at his bizarre usage of the term, but I understood what he meant completely. He had explained to me his philosophy, how he felt that although it was not morally wrong for vampires to harm humans in order to drink their blood, because it was simply a part of our nature, he himself could not bring himself to do so, just as human vegetarians could not bring themselves to harm animals, despite the fact that they were naturally omnivorous.

Carlisle bent down and placed a chaste kiss on Esme's cheek. "I love you, Esme. Please, realize that my personal disgust with drinking the blood of humans has nothing to do with how I feel about you. I will always love you. Always," he promised sincerely, with his golden eyes glowing with adoration and love, and her crimson irises reflecting back the same nauseating combination of emotions.

Again, I wanted to be sick—both of their thoughts were starting to take decidedly uncomfortable turns. But more than that, I wanted Carlisle to make good on his word. If he abandoned Esme in the future because of a differing opinion in diet, I would be sure to make him regret it. Their wedding was going to be very soon, and I understood from the thoughts of others we had encountered in the last few years of my immortality how deeply attached vampires could get to one another after they had sex. To abandon her after that would be beyond cruel.

Ugh… but I would definitely have to leave the house when they decided to head to the bedroom… Presently, Carlisle and I were both virgins, but I knew that soon enough—probably very shortly after the amorous couple managed to escape the ceremony—that would no longer be the case. And I had no desire to hear his thoughts and see flashes of what was happening between them when that occurred.

Hopefully, they would have the decency to have a proper honeymoon, away from the house, at least.

…

It was one night ten years later after surreptitiously subduing and consuming a trio of criminals, that Esme finally voiced the great dilemma that had been burning in her mind for the last several years since her marriage to Carlisle. While we were cleaning up the incriminating remains in an abandoned alley she suddenly lamented, "Oh Edward, I know that he says that he does not mind us choosing to consume humans. But I cannot help but think that sometimes Carlisle looks at me as a monster, and not as his wife," she explained in desperate sorrow. "Please tell me… is that true?" _Do Carlisle's convictions make him believe me to be some kind of horrible evil?_

"No, of course not. He really does love you, Esme," I said truthfully, unnerved by the unnecessary pain she felt by her perception of being judged by her gentle, surprisingly tolerant (thus far, at least) husband. I callously tossed the last of the three bodies into the ghastly pile we'd created, and doused their limp forms in flammable liquids. Then I flicked open a lighter and tossed it mechanically in the direction of the evidence I wished to destroy.

She refused to watch as the blinding yellow-orange flames licked eagerly at the bodies we had recently drained, and self-consciously rubbed against her bloodstained lips with the back of her hand.

"I know, he does not fail to demonstrate it," Esme reminded me. "But although I share his compassion towards the families of those he saves and toward the innocent, I feel that the fact that I see nothing wrong with us hunting criminals together puts a wedge between him and I," she expressed with distressed features glowing eerily orange in the light of the ravaging funeral pyre I had just built, and a haunting. There was a desperate edge to her voice that suggested that she would be utterly lost if Carlisle decided he could no longer tolerate her decision to feed differently than him. "What am I to do, Edward? I do not want there to be a wedge between us."

I sighed and folded my arms as I waited impatiently for the bodies blazing beside me to reduce to ashes. "Esme, I am a seventeen-year-old, not a marriage therapist. I cannot say what you should do. But I can definitely give some advice on what not to do."

Esme's scarlet eyes flickered with apprehension, and the worry that she might have already done what I was going to warn against arose powerfully in her mind. "And what might that be?"

"Do not try to convince him to switch to our methods of sustaining ourselves—he is rather stubborn on that front," I cautioned. "A good friend of his back in Italy tried for decades to change his mind. That's how he knows about all the negative effects of his diet. But he persists, even still."

"His determination to protect humans, even the guilty, is that strong," she mused aloud, astonished by Carlisle's steadfastness in his self-deleterious ways.

"Yeah… I guess you could say it is admirable… but entirely misguided…" I added in a derisive mumble, before I was suddenly interrupted.

The ominous sound of footsteps slowly making their way down the adjacent street in our direction rang in my ears, and my mind was flooded with their thoughts of approach, seeking Esme and I out specifically—since flashes of our faces continually appeared in this mystery person's mind. Preparing to fight if necessary, I coiled my body into a tense crouch, gritted my blunt teeth fiercely and flexed my murderous hands, ready to violently rip off our pursuer's head with my bare hands if necessary.

"Who's there?" I barked out, hoping to scare off any approaching humans so that we were not forced to slaughter any hapless souls who happened upon the gruesome evidence of our hunger-motivated crime fighting. Esme despised causing the deaths of innocents—a trait she shared with her husband.

_Relax Edward, it is just me, Carlisle. _

I visibly relaxed as I began to recognize the characteristic ebb and flow of his thoughts and he suddenly strode into view, dressed simply in a powder blue button-up shirt and black slacks. His golden eyes morosely surveyed the nearly destroyed scene of human slaughter, and the two pairs of bright red eyes reflecting back at him.

"Carlisle? What are you doing here?" I hissed disapprovingly, knowing that his personal discomfort with human deaths being so clearly written all over his face was bound to impress Esme's paranoid feelings even deeper into her aching heart. I wished that he would have simply waited for us to come home to share whatever crucial news was intentionally being hidden within his mind from my view.

"I had hoped to catch you before your meal..." he announced suddenly, and for the first time since I had obtained my telepathic gift I was well and truly shocked. _ Is he going to rescind all his previous statements about us being able to follow after our own ways, and force us to convert to his unhealthy lifestyle?_ I feared.

"But it hardly matters now, I suppose..." he trailed off uncomfortably as he surveyed the burning bodies with a sorrowful expression.

"I thought you said I could do what I wanted," I spat bitterly.

Carlisle's hands both shot up defensively. "You can… of course you can, I just thought you might want to know. I have found another group of vampires like myself, who have found an effective way to curb their hunger so that it does not overwhelm them."

"Curb their hunger?" I pressed.

But Carlisle was determined to keep me in the dark on this one, focusing his surface thoughts on the details of the scenery instead. Images filled his head of the individual droplets of water evaporating against the broken window panes beside me as the bonfire flames leapt higher, of the infinitesimal spot of blood which had managed to slip from the corner of Esme's mouth and create a small brownish-red polka-dot against the sunny yellow color of her sundress, of the uneven paving of the alleyway bricks beneath our feet...

Carlisle went on. "They have found a way to block it out, so that the pain goes away and so they are not compelled to kill humans, but can instead live solely off the blood of animals, as I do," he explained neutrally. He was still infuriatingly focusing his thoughts on completely different matters, so that there were no additional insights as to how this method he mentioned worked, other than the words which he had just spoken. "I am still somewhat skeptical of their methods," he admitted hesitantly, "...but I thought you might be interested, nonetheless."

I didn't get it. It didn't sound right. But Esme looked excited. The prospect that she might be able to sustainably feed as Carlisle did, combined with her burning desire to please him of course made her escatic. I was still very suspicious though._ Curbed_ thirst was not satisfied thirst. Which meant that my objections to drinking animal blood on the grounds that it was unhealthy probably still stood.

"I want to meet them right away!" Esme practically sang. She darted with inhuman speed over to Carlisle's side and rubbing a hand lovingly over his left shoulder to indicate her spousal support.

"Of course," Carlisle acknowledged with an adoring smile, capturing her beautiful feminine hands in his own and lifting them for a gentle kiss, before unexpectedly turning his attention to me. "Edward, you can stay here, if you wish. But I would highly appreciate it if you would at least come take a look."

"I will admit I am curious. You want me to be surprised—you are keeping your thoughts focused on other things," I observed flatly, my curiosity overruled for the most part by irritation that Carlisle was trying and succeeding at keeping me in the dark.

"I really do think you will like what you see..." he hinted.

I shot one last glance at the smoldering pile of ash left in the alley before I stomped petulantly over toward where Carlisle and Esme stood. Their noses were nearly touching, and their hands clung to each other in a manner that was uncomfortably intimate.

"Very well, I will come check it out."


	16. Chapter 15: Song of the Damned

**AN: Yes, I know that those events are different than the official canon version of what happened, but since we only know of Edward and Esme's early years as vampires from Edward's unreliable narration at the beginning of Twilight, I decided things happened a little differently. Also, a lot of you were wondering why Carlisle has let them live with him and yet still go out and feed on human blood. Two hundred years of solitude can make a man desperate for company, so he is willing to accommodate them to keep them around, first off, secondly, he realizes that his ways are unhealthy and that it is not his right to force his decision on others. Eventually, the Cullens do become the full-vegetarian coven we know from the books, but initially they didn't start that way. **

**This chapter will start to explain how the transition happened, though. **

**It should also go further to explain why Carlisle has been so tolerant, thus far. A lot of you seemed to be under the impression that he coerced his coven into choosing his vegetarian lifestyle. That is not so. ;)**

**Also, there is some theological terminology being tossed around here, so if you have any questions about what the heck they're talking about, shoot me a note. If enough of you are confused, I may put an explanation on my profile page, but otherwise I am going to assume that you guys are following what is going on. Google can be your friend, if you are curious, but my offer is still very much open-I will tell you everything I know.**

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen: Song of the Damned**

"Edward this is Tanya, Irina, Kate, Carmen and Eleazar," Carlisle said politely, gesturing to the peaceful congregate of golden-eyed vampires all sitting calmly amid an assortment of expensive living room furniture. A glossy glass coffee table rested between them, topped with a fragrant bouquet of pastel flowers.

"They all drink animal blood," he added informatively with an unrestrained smile. Clearly the idea that he wasn't the only person insane enough to drink something so repulsive and unhealthy heartened him. But to me the idea of their being other like-minded vampires was much more disturbing than reassuring.

My response was flat. "I can see that."

And if it wasn't obvious enough from the color of their eyes, I had already discovered as much from their thoughts, and heard their intolerant disapproving comments in regards to Esme's and my own crimson eyes. Although one shapely, strawberry blonde, Tanya, was rather more interested in the _rest _of my anatomy, it seemed. A disgusted shiver raced down my spine as the adult woman hungrily appraised my teenaged body with a wicked gleam in her lust-ridden eyes. Her gaze wasn't at all like Carlisle's when he gave Esme intimate, sultry looks_—_whereas Carlise's thoughts as he looked upon his wife were always filled with a pure desire for her whole being, with mutual reciprocation and love in mind, Tanya's thoughts were crude and only concerned with her own satisfaction. I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat as she vividly imagined touching me all over. Her thoughts were so vulgarly detailed it was almost like she was groping me anyway.

Quickly my eyes turned to the rest of the group. Sitting beside Tanya on the green cushions her right was her sister Kate, who had pencil-straight pale blonde hair that flowed over her shoulders, and on the other side of Kate sat the shortest of the three, Irina, whose hair mimicked that of Kate's except that it had an almost silvery sheen to it and it was cropped to a blunt edge at her chin. On another small couch at ninety-degree angle from the one the three sisters sat on, was a dark-haired couple of Spanish descent, Carmen and Eleazar.

Disconcertingly all five of the vampires had Carlisle's ever-so-slightly greenish skin, and dark purple circles under their unnaturally yellow eyes. And from their hair's dull, human-like luster I was beginning to suspect that the women wore wigs or extensions to hide their brittle scalps. Clearly they were still suffering the ill-effects of such an unhealthy lifestyle, regardless of how they managed it.

I as I critically surveyed the placid crowd, I finally noticed a green-eyed, flush-skinned brunette sitting slightly apart from the rest who had escaped my initial assessment of the room by her position on a small purple cushion in the far corner. Her eyes were rimmed with thick kohl, and her lips were painted a fierce blood red. A curious assortment of crystal pendants hung from her neck, numerous large golden rings decorated her ears, and a litany of strange runes were embroidered into the complicated drapery of shawls she wore about her small person, giving her a mystical air. Gaudy jewelry also smothered her wrists and fingers, and a bright magenta scarf tied back her curly shoulder-length hair.

She looked like a freakshow.

And her apparent humanity in a room full of half-starved vampires terrified me.

At least until I caught a whiff of her scent, putrid like rotten eggs, and I realized that not even these famished vampires were desperate enough to want to drink that.

"You manage your thirst with a spell? An enchantment?" I asked, to vocally confirm the solution to their thirst which had been flowing through the five golden-eyed vampires' thoughts.

"Yes… Aria helps us subdue our thirst," Carmen agreed with a happy smile, pointing to the strange, non-vampire woman sitting with her legs crossed on her little pillow. The woman turned over a small glass ball in her pinkish hands, gazing into its depths as though entranced by its contents.

Carmen reached to give the hand of her husband who sat uncomfortably still beside her, a reassuring squeeze. "That way we can stay away from human blood." _That way we can be a compassionate, loving couple who hurts no one. Isn't that amazing, Eleazar? _

Eleazar, on the other hand, I could tell was more troubled by his mate's enthusiasm than he dared to let on. _Carmen, I wish I could tell you how I feel about this… I love you, so I have agreed to endure this pain for a time, but will you never listen to my concerns? I understand and respect that you think it more important to protect the lives of humans than to bring children into this world… but must my feelings be ignored on this matter? I always wanted to have a family with you, Carmen. A real family…_

"Sometimes we still… slip up," Carmen continued, totally oblivious to her husband's despairing thoughts. "...when the thirst grows very strong and overrides the spell," she added with a briefly sad look in her compassionate honey eyes. "But these instances are infrequent, and usually only occur when dealing with _nostri cantanti_, those whose blood appeals to us the most." she dismissed casually, as though these "slip ups" were nothing to be worried about: extremely rare and barely minor inconveniences, and not, perhaps horrifying symptoms of a greater, unsolved issue, as Eleazar's mind seemed to suggest.

_You're mitigating the frequency of your "slip ups", Carmen, _Eleazar thought, sending a bizarrely pointed look in my direction, as though he was somehow aware of my unrevealed abilities and was silently requesting me to listen closely to his inner dialogue. _They happen slightly more often than that, and are a perfectly natural response to your body's starvation. Why can't you see that you're hurting yourself—or rather, how come when you see it, you do not stop?_

"I see…" I said with skeptical displeasure.

All five vampires had an unnerving calmness about them, the same sort of control that Carlisle miraculously displayed despite his deprivation, and I was eager to understand more about it. "And how does this spell work exactly?" I asked, hoping that my vocal inquiry would spur the woman who apparently was the caster of the thirst-curbing spells to review the intricacies of the process in her head. From their malnourished appearances, I was deeply concerned that whatever she was doing to them was highly unnatural, and was about as effective of a remedy for thirst as perfume was a cure for rotting fruit. But without seeing her methods myself, I couldn't determine that for sure.

The green-eyed "witch", I learned she was called, looked up at me for the first time since our arrival. She pocketed the small crystal sphere she had been toying with moments earlier and set her hands tranquilly in her lap, each finger gleaming with thick, tasteless gold rings. As her piercing green eyes bore into mine, also seemingly aware of my powers, I watched, mesmerized as the process she used on each of the five flickered through my mind in a series of hasty images.

Ancient runic symbols drawn in pale chalk against a dark background filled my vision. The next image was of Aria, the witch, kneeling on a cold cement floor in an abandoned building somewhere drawing those strange sigils on the ground with meticulous care in a circle around a thick, vertical steel beam. Heavy, powerfully enchanted chains encircled Kate—though her hair was choppy and disarrayed in this picture—and firmly fastened her to the pole, despite her supernatural strength and her frequent bucking against her restraints.

Blood splashed across my sight. Human blood. Aria was tracing over the symbols she'd drawn earlier, dipping her hands in a ritual black chalice and finger-painting the substance on the ground while Kate snarled and tried to lunge for the dark smears. In the next picture Aria was standing, chanting some kind of incantation in a dead language as she worked to light black candles to add to the eerie circle around Kate.

There poof of white as chalk was dumped over Kate's body before red filled my eyes again. More symbols. This time drawn directly onto Kate's body, which was completely naked aside from the chains encircling her arms and torso from just beneath her armpits to the middle of her thighs. Aria was trailing her blood stained hands all over her diamond-like skin, and the scent combined with the proximity of the tantalizing food made Kate writhe and gnash her teeth ferally at Aria while the blonde vainly tried to lick the blood off her body. Aria laughed bitterly at Kate's futile attempts and taunted her by striking a smear of blood over the top of her nose, which was so ridiculously close to her mouth that it was absolutely maddening, but thanks to the physical limits of her tongue, completely out of reach.

Aria continued to cackle at Kate's struggles as she reached into her pockets and drew out several large crystals and began chanting again. The words, even though I couldn't understand them, were dark and malevolent sounding, and Kate suddenly threw back her head and screamed in piercing agony as they reached her ears. With a sadistic grin, Aria scraped the crystals against Kate's skin, causing the bloody runes that had dried there to peel away and flutter to the dark floor. Once the blood was all scraped away, Kate's painful howling stopped instantly and she hung limp in her restraints all of a sudden, like the very life had been sucked out of her. Thankfully she appeared to still be living as Aria wiped up the floor and unwound the chains, but I wasn't unnerved any less by the sight.

It was a horrific process to witness, and I shivered again as I saw each of the other three women and Eleazar endure it, howling in obvious agony in this witch's mind as she applied her strange magic to their bodies.

"That… That's awful," was all I could manage to say after that traumatic onslaught of images.

Everyone in the room except for Carlisle, Eleazar, Aria and Esme flooded my head with perplexed thoughts, as they were totally oblivious as to what had just occurred between the diminutive witch and myself. Carlisle and Esme looked in my direction with deep concern and worried curiosity, wondering what sort of terrible things I must have seen to contort my face into such a vile expression. And Eleazar, knowing full well what must have passed through my head, because of his gift which gave him an awareness of mine, dipped his own in sympathetic sorrow and resignation.

What was most upsetting however, was not the severe worry of my covenmates. Nor was it Eleazar's despairing acceptance of the torture he had to face with some regularity in order to stay with his beloved mate. Nor the vexing questions in the others' minds that were whirling around in a maddening cesspool of confusion and mistrustful suspicion. No, it was Aria's smug smirk that was by far the most alarming.

That twisted sorceress _enjoyed_ inflicting the pain she did on this unfortunate coven, I perceived with horror. And not simply because it meant that her human friends remained unharmed, (although that was one reason). But also because she derived some sort of sick, sadistic pleasure from inflicting pain on members of my species.

I was terrified to realize as more of her cruel thoughts filed my way that she saw vampires as hellish demons, as her arch nemeses, and only maintained the illusion of friendship with this group in order to suppress the threat they naturally posed to mankind. She herself was not in danger around them, as she possessed some sort of genetic predisposition, a latent ability that had triggered a change in her originally human physiology when she first came in the presence of vampires. This change had given her blood a toxic flavor that no vampire would ever dare taste in addition to magical powers and longevity. But she considered herself a protector of humankind, and an enemy to all who sought to consume them—even to this unusually compassionate coven who ultimately desired the same end as she.

She hated all vampires, more passionately than I had known anyone to hate anything. And this suffering group of human-loving immortals, despite their continued selfless sacrifices to fight their predatory natures, were no different from the rest in her mind.

"Edward… what did you see?" Carlisle asked cautiously, before turning quickly to the others and explaining: "Edward has the ability to read the immediate thoughts of all who are in close proximity."

This revelation elicited a surprised gasp from most in the room and a few fleeting, dirty looks at Carlisle for not explaining earlier that their thoughts were not private. Kate looked particularly perturbed by this and she suddenly rose from the plush, tawny couch with a savage, livid expression, appearing as though she very much wanted to tear my face off.

Carlisle swiftly tried to diffuse the situation. "I apologize for withholding this information. I assure you that I meant no deceit by it," he said with both hands raised in a gentle "calm down" gesture. But Kate didn't halt her menacing advances.

Aro's face flickered across her mind—although the image was much older than those in Carlisle's, which I could determine by the medieval regalia the ancient vampire was arrayed in instead of the Rococo Era breeches and ostentatious tailcoats I was accustomed to seeing him in. I could also tell that her opinion of him was much less admiring than that of Carlisle's as well. Her vision grew red and hazy with intemperate rage as she recalled a distant memory of him and several of his guards as they circled vindictively around the woman she and her coven sisters had once regarded as their mother. In Kate's memories, Aro instructed Jane and Alec to brutally tear her mother apart before Caius eagerly fed her flailing body parts to the hungry flames.

Her one experience with the elder vampire had been extremely traumatic, so I understood her vicious hatred completely. But apparently, because of my red eyes and my similar abilities to that of Aro, she made an erroneous connection between us, assuming that I was somehow affiliated with him, and was enraged that I had been sent to "spy" on them.

Of course, her estimation of my character could not be further from the truth. I wasn't a member of the Volturi guard—which ought to have been obvious because I didn't proudly wear the coven crest. And there was no way I was a bastard son of Aro's (the other possibility Kate had thought of, since I bore no resemblance to either Aro or his wife Sulpicia, but had a telepathic gift), because unlike her, Aro was a strict monogamist.

But I did not even attempt to correct her as her sisters rushed to restrain her, because as the blonde trio thrashed chaotically around one another, an electric charge suddenly covered Kate's entire body in response, and I realized she was far beyond reasoning capability. Her fury with the Volturi for the execution of their previous coven leader some many centuries ago, had blinded her to all rational explanations. And evidently it had even hardened her against sympathy for her sisters, too.

Kate radiated a flooring, electric shock over her skin, and the two women tenaciously fighting to restrain her howled in excruciating pain as it surged into their bodies. Amazingly, they retained their grips on her arms in spite of it, though they grimaced and twitched violently at the bright electrical pulses danced over their skin. But Kate wasn't about to let them win. A loud, shrill snarl ripped through Kate's throat as the girls tried to force her back into her seat once more, and her power surged stronger, causing the two terrified vampires to crumple at her feet. It surprised me how coolly she stepped over them and I tensed where I stood, ready to fight as she hunched to lunge at me.

Before she could launch herself in my direction, however, Carlisle dashed between her and me, and held up a single forbidding hand. He was giving her the iciest glare I had ever seen, for some unknowable reason that alone caused her to suddenly stop in her tracks, petrified in fear, despite the fact that I thought the man rather harmless. Kate slowly backed away under Carlisle's baleful glare and seemed to realize that she needed to confirm her hypothesis before she simply tore me apart.

"You bring an associate of those devils with you?" she spat venomously toward Carlisle. Her bared, clenched teeth gleamed with venom and her wild, wrathful eyes made their best attempt to drill thousands of tiny holes into my brain.

Carlisle looked bewildered for a second until he realized to whom she was referring, and the hasty, false conclusion Kate had jumped to as a result. "No, Edward has no affiliation with the Volturi. I was the one to change him and he has been in my company ever since."

"…But his eyes…"

"…Are the same hue as my mate, Esme's," he finished for her in a placating tone, directing a single hand in his wife's direction as he spoke. Esme turned her head ever so slightly away from Carlisle's gaze, as though deeply ashamed by their difference in eye-color, even though Carlisle had never protested her decision to hunt criminals.

"And she obviously has no affiliation with them either," Carlisle pointed out in an attempt to make peace with the passionately Volturi-opposed coven, before sending a fleeting glance in Eleazar's direction. _I had no idea that your covenmates harbored such a fierce hatred of our friends back in Volterra. _

Although Eleazar could not read minds, he seemed to understand these words behind Carlisle's gaze, and his thoughts responded: _It distresses me too, that their prior negative experiences and their dedication to abstain from ending human life have corrupted their vision of the Volturi so much. Certainly they must realize that their late mother was in the wrong, and the Volturi only did what they must to exercise justice. _

Kate seemed to understand the unspoken implication that Carlisle would fight on my behalf if she made a move against me, and sent one last derisive sneer in my direction before she sauntered back to her chair, and threw herself down in it with a melodramatic "Hmph!" The other sisters at last struggled to their feet and cast wary glances at Carlisle, their thoughts burgeoning with fear at the prospect that Carlisle might use his gift against them. It stunned me that he had informed them of his power, and not mine. But based on their terror-motivated acceptance of his authority and unwillingness to challenge him in a physical confrontation for the very real fear that they might emerge psychologically traumatized, I grudgingly conceded that perhaps it was a good thing that they knew. At least that way we wouldn't waste precious energy on a meaningless fight.

Once the sisters had all returned to their various seats and most of the heavy, violent atmosphere had evaporated, Carlisle repeated his previous question. "Edward, what did you see?"

"The spell she uses on these five is extremely unpleasant," I decided to say, although the words did little to convey my true mortification with the ghastly process I had seen. "It is… painful to administer and must be frequently reapplied, as its effects are completely nullified whenever they drink human blood."

"But it is able to prevent them from killing humans most of the time, yes?" Esme inquired hopefully. _I am willing to put up with a little pain every few years if it means that I can be closer to my husband. I cannot endure the constant denial he lives in. But this arrangement, I think might work for us. We could finally reconcile our differences and be one. I want that very much. _

_ No, Esme. You do not want this_. I thought to myself. _It is horrible and twisted and evil. Not to mention it doesn't make this diet any healthier. Carlisle still loves you, despite your current diet. I think we should go home and never speak of this again. _

But of course, Esme couldn't hear my inner concerns, and before I was able to vocally protest, Carmen butted in with her positive affirmation.

Esme's lightly painted lips burst in to a dazzling, wide smile of unrestrained joy, and she threw her arms enthusiastically around her husband's waist before she proudly declared. "I want the spell administered as soon as possible, then. Is that, alright with you, Aria?" she asked with flawless politeness, giving the undeserving witch her most congenial expression, her hospitable eyes shining with the offer to give the brutal little woman anything she wanted in exchange for an increased degree of closeness with her mate.

Aria's impassive expression twisted into a malefic sneer—at least I knew it was malefic from her corrupted thoughts, outwardly it could pass for simply an eccentric smile. "Of course. The spell is most effective when performed on a full moon, so I would suggest we wait until then. But it would be my _pleasure _to accommodate you."

I resisted the urge to growl at her as her hands flexed excitedly as the word "pleasure" rolled deviously off of her serpentine tongue.

"Esme… I don't think you understa—" I protested, until my words were cut off by Aria's thoughts. _Let the doctor's bride submit herself to my power. Clearly it is what she wants. Perhaps this way she might have some meager chance at redemption. _

I blinked quizzically at her words. _Redemption?_ _From what?_

_Redemption from Hell, you idiot,_ her thoughts startlingly responded._ Or has Carlisle not told you of his beliefs?_

_ How are you… how are you reading my thoughts? _I silently asked, taking a nervous step back from the creepily staring woman. Her ring-laden fingers were now eerily caressing a small, red-eyed male doll in her hands, which I supposed was meant to represent me, in some eerily voodoo-istic way despite the fact that she had only been informed of my existence a few hours before our arrival. At least its appearance was rather generic, other than the red eyes, and could have easily already been part of her collection before she had ever heard of me, or else I might have fled the room in terror.

_That is honestly irrelevant, Edward,_ Aria thought dismissively. _The fact is that I can. And you want to know what I mean by saying that Carlisle's bride may actually have a sliver of a chance at redemption now. Murders go to Hell, Edward. Surely, you were taught that much during your human life?_ She supplied with a devilish grin.

I kept my body entirely still and tried not to alert anyone else in the room to our nonverbal exchange. _I am a vampire now, _I reminded her, to make the point that the rules of my existences were probably totally different._ Carlisle said that although he cannot bring himself to harm people, especially innocent people, that it is the more logical option. Drinking animal blood causes a litany of adverse health effects._

_ Oh… is that what he told you? He never explained to you then, how he **really**_ _feels. That he still believes God's commandment "thou shalt not murder" to be very much in force?_ Her grin grew wider now, and her caressing of the pale figurine in her hands more insistent and creepy. There was something on her hands, a pale chalk-like substance like the one she'd used in the ritual. She was rubbing it in rhythmic circles over the doll's chest.

_ What? He's never said anything like that! _I responded inwardly in shock, straining to keep my face blank, although the others were already beginning to notice that something was off. _…I know that he has Christian beliefs… that he prays and all that, but he never believed that... he never said that… he never..._

_ Oh yes Edward, you should ask him about his initial reasons for choosing his diet instead of drinking the blood of humans. Do you honestly think he would try to resist it so much in the beginning if he saw nothing morally wrong with it? Do you honestly think he would persist now, if he saw no potential condemnation for it? _She swirled the chalk faster now, almost burrowing into the doll's plush figure with her dark green, talon-like fingernails.

_ Carlisle is a very sensitive man!_ I argued vehemently._ He… likes to help people, and I agree that it is best to avoid harming innocents. I drink the blood of criminals, you know, _I specified, which justified my actions completely in my mind. All the terrible monsters I consumed were more than worthy of death for their crimes anyway—so really I was doing the world a favor, and satisfying my thirst at the same time. What harm was there in killing two birds with one stone?

_ Ah, but that hardly matters. Every drop of human blood you spill will be required to be atoned for when you die—at least that is what the doctor believes._ Aria stopped spreading the chalk and bent to kiss the forehead of the small doll cradled in her blood-warmed hands. Suddenly I was overflowing with uncontrollable rage. She was lying, she had to be.

But for some reason her words had struck a chord with me—something inside had stung with a piercing stab of guilt.

_ You lie! You lie! _I mentally screamed at her, all desires to remain still and inconspicuous vanishing entirely from my mind as I hefted the glass coffee table out of my way, and dashed to claw savagely at her throat as it smashed to dust against the living room wall. The witch cackled, her voice high and cold as she watched my approach with bemused interest, and her demonic laughter only grew more hideous as Carlisle and Esme converged around me, each seizing an arm and a leg, and began forcefully dragging me away from the witch I had lunged at in furious rage.

I could still hear the terrible sound of her laughter ringing in my ears even after my "family" had dragged me hallway across the state, and was still thrashing in their arms to rush at her—to crush her between my bare hands.

Everything about that woman was wrong. _She_ was wrong, about Carlisle especially. She had to be.

Or else I was utterly doomed.

…

"Carlisle, is what Aria said true? Do you really think that?" I demanded worriedly, after we had settled back into our newly decorated home. I had explained to the man I was just starting to trust and love as a father the horrific things Aria had said and showed to me in her spidery thoughts, hoping for him to verify their falsity.

Carlisle sighed and a remorseful look passed over his perfect features. "I did, once," he admitted with a rueful shake of his head, before he reached into his collar and drew out a tiny golden cross necklace and fingered in pensively in his hands. "But I no longer see things that way," he declared unexpectedly, with eyes that utterly pierced into my soul. _You have to understand that people's experiences shape what they believe, and my feelings on this matter are complex and have evolved over time, _he thought purposefully in my direction before he verbally continued. "The experiments I conducted in Volterra irrefutably proved to me that human blood is what our systems were designed to eat. And although I struggled with this fact for some time, and tried to ignore the ramifications, I eventually came to accept that as far as condemnation-wise, Aro was probably right that our creator would not punish us for doing what is necessary to survive," he finished, dropping the small pendant back into his shirt.

My face was still panicked—I had hoped that he would deny her words entirely, but if they were even partially true…

"I… I do not understand," I contributed fearfully. "She said you believed that killing humans was wrong. That you would go to Hell for it."

Carlisle pursed his lips and pressed his fingertips together in mild frustration with himself for not being frank about his early fears sooner as he contemplated the best way to phrase his next statement.

"My father was a very accusing man—quick to pin the weight of damnation on any who were the least bit unworthy. He was cold, intolerant and very strongly believed in a vengeful sort of divine justice. I never quite agreed with him on things theological, I always saw more optimism, more hope, more redemption in the same texts he was claiming to damn all but the most zealous. But there was one belief that I had never thought to question of his: the belief that our kind," he gestured between himself and me, "are damned by our natures, by our compulsion to kill humans."

So it was true. Maybe he no longer believed it now, but at one point, he had—Aria had been right.

"But when I became a vampire myself, the evidence I was presented with did not match up with my father's hypothesis. I certainly still felt like I had a soul, like I had a moral compass and a desire, a chance at heaven. And I began to realize that the notion of an entire species being damned for virtually no reason other than simply existing was entirely ludicrous. And so slowly, my perspective on the matter began to shift."

"Originally, I still thought that in order for vampires to attain salvation, they had to abide by the letter to human laws—including the injunction against maliciously killing human beings," Carlisle explained neutrally, as the memories of his early newborn years danced before my eyes. I saw his fathomless self-loathing as he tried over and over to rid this earth of his presence, before he discovered that he could survive weakly on the blood of beasts.

I gasped as I put the pieces together. _So that was the reason he was compelled to drink animal blood in the first place. _I couldn't believe I hadn't considered it before. _Really, nothing else but the very real threat of Hell would be a strong enough motivation to keep him away from the allure. _

Carlisle went on. "But when I began to try and save the souls of others, when Aro tried my diet, and later when the newborns, and a few volunteers submitted themselves to it, I realized that for some unknowable reason, that my resistance is an anomaly. And that for some it is even physically impossible to survive without great quantities of human blood." _The bodies of vampires with physical powers cannot get enough energy to live any other way. To sustain them on animal blood would be impossible, and to attempt to feed them human blood without killing would be a logistical nightmare. _

"I was unwilling to accept it at first, thinking that perhaps there had been some mistake," Carlisle continued with a sadly recollecting expression. "...but as the evidence of their deprivation became undeniable, I was horribly distraught, thinking that God had cruelly provided no means of escape from condemnation for those with physical powers. At least until I recalled that God had promised that he would not suffer those who would be judged by him to be tempted above what we were able to resist, and that for those with such taxing abilities, and most of vampirekind even, resisting the call of human blood was far above what they were able." _Heinrich and I are the only ones who can resist human blood while on an animal blood diet without any kind of outside bewitching of the body, and Aro even entertained theories that perhaps that was an unexpected side-effect of our gifts. I am not sure I believe that, but it is not entirely out of the realm of possibility. _

"I was horrified that perhaps this might mean that for a vampire to kill a human for food was perfectly justified; sinless in of itself," _How could something I perceived to be so foul ever be morally right? Or at least not morally wrong._ "...But the more I turned over this concept in my mind, the more I understood that it made sense. Some commandments given by God may be difficult to keep at times," _injunctions against anger and lust certainly are hard for some to follow,_ "...but certainly none are physiologically impossible to abide without perishing," Carlisle expounded logically. As he spoke more images and sounds from his soul-tormented days in the dungeons of Volterra flashed through my mind, especially those of the physically-powered vampires who were brought to the brink of starvation before Aro insisted that they be fed properly.

His reasoning seemed sound enough. But I could not stop the niggling feeling creeping into my heart that perhaps his rationalizations were wrong—that maybe his original gut-feeling had been more cosmically consistent with the real order of the universe.

"After Aro's first daughter was born, I thought about trying to embrace what I was—to switch over to a healthier diet, since there was probably no condemnation in doing so," Carlisle revealed unexpectedly.

The jarring vision of Carlisle staring at me with ruby-red eyes, adorned in black velvet robes, with a gleaming silverish pendant hanging around his neck assaulted me suddenly. It was so unexpected that Carlisle, the gentle, had-moral-qualms-about-hurting-everything-human, man I knew now would have ever even merely entertained the idea of drinking the blood of humans in the traditional sort of way. But I grudgingly accepted that at least, his chain of logic was extremely well-laid out.

"Of course, I ran into a major obstacle along the way," Carlisle recalled with a wry smile, as though somehow the particular hindrance he had faced was rather ironic on his pathway toward total acceptance of the orthodox vampire diet. "The notion of killing humans to slake my thirst still horrified me as much as it did before, despite my new perspective. Even the idea of drawing blood out with a knife disturbed me because of the thought that it might cause human suffering. So I decided to persist in my diet of animal blood anyway, because of my… personal difficulties," he offered.

_Well that explained why he could not bear to hunt with Esme and I but had been nothing but respectful towards our decisions, _I thought_._ _Even though his gut-impression of human-killing with his own hands and teeth was that of disgust and terror, he at least recognized eventually that it was sinless and perfectly natural._

"I plan to continue in this manner, at least until I find a better option," Carlisle added matter-of-factly. "Occasionally I have managed to find, harmless, short-term sources of human blood. Morgues routinely drain dead bodies, and the blood, while not in an ideal state, is still substantially healthier than animal blood," he revealed, and this came as a shock to me, since I had never once seen the man with red eyes. Of, course given the fact that both Esme and I would probably totally misinterpret what he had done if he returned home with crimson irises, his hiding them from us made perfect sense. Even the idea of being _perceived_ as a man who killed humans was repulsive to him.

"I try not to drink too much, though, because that might arouse suspiciouns and make me unable to return to the blood of beasts," he explained, which I supposed was another reason his eyes had never been an incriminating color. Small amounts of human blood weren't enough to show up amidst the gold, the hue difference would be so minor, even a vampire would never be able to tell unless they got uncomfortably close and had something to directly compare them to. "Nourishing myself this way is… highly inconvenient. Not to mention drinking from a vial is not as… bestially satisfying as using one's teeth…" he admitted in a way that indicated that he enjoyed the "hunt" part of hunting animals, if not the results.

"And for those reasons I perfectly understand why most vampires prefer 'traditional' methods," he acknowledged with an empathetic look. "Why, if I was not utterly repulsed by it, I probably would have embraced the lifestyle the Volturi live and remained among them," he finished with absolute seriousness.

I felt like my jaw was going to unhinge from shock, especially as his next thoughts filtered through my mind: _They saw great potential for my gift, and I have always wanted to work for the benefit of the entire world. But as long as I drank the blood of beasts, I could never be allowed to become a part of the guard. It made me far too weak to be put on the battlefront, even if I was not particularly meant to be a fighter. All of the Volturi must be strong, in case something unexpected happens which requires all of our strength._

He had referred to himself as one of them. At some point in Carlisle's ridiculously long life he had harbored a desire—a fairly strong one even—to join the Volturi. He had assured me when he had first transformed me that he had no recollection of ever killing humans for their blood, so he must not have ever realized this aspiration of his, but the fact that he had ever wanted it was earth-shattering enough.

The man in front of me, in a parallel universe, could have easily ended up as Carlisle of the Volturi, instead of Carlisle Cullen.

I think my brain was going to explode.

"According to my own, _current_ beliefs," Carlisle pressed on, entirely ignorant of the mind-dissolving shock that was clearly manifested all over my immortal body. "…despite our aspiration to return to that Edenic state where nothing dies, God does not prohibit mankind from killing and eating animals," he analogized, referencing the biblical Garden of Eden to illustrate further how he felt on the matter of his nature. "Some find extreme discomfort at the idea of taking the life of beasts, despite the fact that it is not forbidden by heaven, and chose a life of 'vegetarianism' as a result to this aversion. There is no sin either way, as mankind was created in this fallen state as natural omnivores. But some find themselves unable to harm animals, and others have absolutely no qualms about taking the lives that God has not forbidden them to take."

I think I was starting to understand where Carlisle was going with this one. He had explained this specific portion of his beliefs earlier.

"Personally, in my human life, I was in the latter group," Carlisle announced without the tiniest hint of shame, completely unruffled by the fact that he had remorselessly participated in slaughtering and consuming the various animals his family purchased to eat, much as I had began to feel about killing and imbibing the blood of criminals. "But I held no disdain towards those who abstained from meat. That was their personal choice, and I respected it. Although it was not until I became a vampire that I ever understood it, because now, in a strange sense, I guess you could say that I am the vampire version of a vegetarian. I personally cannot stand the idea of killing humans to eat, even though it is… not forbidden," he offered finally.

It stunned me, Bella, how much Carlisle sounded like Aro when he said this. Apparently the ancient vampire's attempts to sway the younger blond immortal had not been entirely fruitless, given a while to logically absorb his experimental findings. Of course they still had not achieved the desired outcome of Carlisle embracing his predatory nature and developing into a remorseless human-drinker, which I was certain irked Aro to no end.

What stunned me even more though, was that Aro's reasoning was starting to wear off on me, too. At least the concept that vampires would not be damned for their dietary choices was sitting rather comfortably in my mind—how it sat in my very human heart was another matter, of course. But I was beginning to at least rationally understand and accept his belief that human-drinking vampires could still attain salvation as valid.

Edward, on the other hand, was mentally stepping in the opposite direction—something buried deep within the recesses of his, or rather my heart stirred nauseatingly at the ideas that Carlisle had expressed. And even though Carlisle himself had explained rather irrefutably why he felt the way that he did, and saw no reason for divine judgment to fall upon either himself or myself strictly because of which creatures we preyed upon, I was distressed by what I had heard nonetheless.

_What if Carlisle was wrong? What if… we really are damned if we kill to drink human blood? What if… I am already lost? _came my irrational fears.

"Can you promise that this is true?" I begged him, for his oath would probably be adequate to allay these ludicrous fears that had begun propagating in my weary heart. "That killing to eat mortals is not a cause for damnation?"

But Carlisle was too honest to simply lie to me and tell me what I wanted to hear. "I promise nothing, Edward," he said gravely, the uncertainty clearly wearing on him as much as it wore on me. "There is still a slim chance that we all may be damned regardless. I think that all we can do is try our best to live according to our consciences, and continue to pray with the hope that we will be saved," he offered sincerely, reaching a paternal hand over to pat my shoulder, whilst his pale mouth curled into a warm, close-lipped smile.

Carlisle continued. "My conscience compels me to abstain from harming or killing humans. But yours and that of most of the other vampires in this world apparently do not. I may not be comfortable with it, and if you would be swayed, I would be delighted if you were to dedicate yourself to being a 'vegetarian' as well. But, especially knowing the risks, I do not begrudge you, nor any other vampire for your decision to consume human blood," he expressed genuinely.

I was astonished that he looked me directly in the eyes as he said this, his honey-golden irises peering unflinchingly into my bright scarlet orbs. His total acceptance of everything the color of my eyes entailed, right down to the gritty details, flooded over me through my gift.

His love for Esme and I really was totally unconditional.

I felt vastly unworthy of it.

"You said we might be damned regardless? As in… go to Hell no matter what we do?" I asked with undisguised panic in my voice.

"Edward, I highly, _highly_ doubt that is the case," Carlisle consoled, and—upon sensing I would not reject him—he drew me into a fatherly embrace, hoping to banish my inexplicable fears with the sheer force of his compassion. "My father believed that about us—which is the only reason I bring it up. But I do not. I cannot believe that our creator would truly be so callous as to condemn an entire species because of a nature which he instilled in them." He relinquished his grasp around me and stepped back a bit, with a mock-quizzical look on his face, suggesting that such a thing was unthinkably impossible. "That would be extremely hypocritical, no?"

"But…" _Whoever said that God was necessarily a being of integrity? If we cannot be sure on anything… what if he really is the duplicitous sort who would make impossible rules like that?_

"Edward, you cannot possibly trust Aria's word over mine, can you? Are not my thoughts on this matter clear? Can you see the sincerity of my discoveries in my mind?" Carlisle asked with obvious hurt burning in his eyes. Clearly the fact that I was stepping towards falling into a pit of despair based on her words earlier today, instead of taking courage from his assurances was emotionally wounding him, but I could not bring myself to stop. The fears had become obsessive, and overwhelming.

"Yes… but…" _I do not want to be damned! If there is any chance that killing human beings is wrong, I do not want to take it. I am terrified Carlisle. What do I do?_

Carlisle cut my thoughts off with a perplexed inquiry: "Then why are you troubled, Edward? I may not endorse your methods myself, but they suit you."

"Are you saying that you think that I am a monster?" I shouted in complete mortification. _He thinks that damnation **suits**_ _me? _"That you think I would be happier as a vigilante vampire, rather than a gentle, loving soul like you? Are you saying that you think that is who I am—a savage, human-killing beast?" _I cannot believe what I am hearing!_

_What on earth? _came Carlisle's bewildered thoughts. "I never said that… I…" _What can I possibly say to him? Where is this sudden terror of condemnation coming from? I understand that Edward was raised Christian... but I have never seen him pray even once since his transformation, so I assumed it was not all that important to him. But now… he is acting much as I was in the beginning, though even with my reasons he is unconvinced. What should I do?_

"Edward, you save as many lives as you take—probably even more," he settled on saying at last. "I may not personally be able to do something like that, but… it works in your case," he rushed to clarify, so that I would not be confused as to his meaning, although I already understood that from his thoughts. "I am sure that the citizens in the surrounding towns greatly appreciate you for it."

"Mostly they just scream, if they see," I recalled morosely, ghastly images of shrieking men and women filling my mind, and sending me spiraling deeper and deeper into the sludge of shame.

_That wasn't the right thing to say, then. Perhaps I can change his mind once he realizes what his fears mean he must face. _"Then will you agree to have the spell placed on you along with Esme?" _You said earlier that it was highly unpleasant, which is your polite way of saying, unbearably horrible. _

My head shot up at that. "Carlisle the process is horrific. Please do not let her do it," I pleaded with him—unwilling to let the nightmare of Esme writhing in agony as Aria performed her unnervingly demonic ritual on her with a cruel, eerily wide grin throughout the entire placement of the enchantment.

"She wants to appease me," Carlisle revealed sadly, gazing guiltily at the floor. _I should have made it more obvious, told her more often, demonstrated more clearly that I love her regardless._ "I have told her over and over again that her feeding with you does not upset me. I am actually glad that she can enjoy a healthy life because of it, but she worries instead that I secretly judge her for it," he said with a pained expression as he shook his hands back and forth emphatically, to visually demonstrate both his frustration and perplexion with Esme's paranoid line of thinking.

Suddenly his expression became very, _very _serious. "Do you suppose Esme is condemned as well?"

"I… I…" _What on earth was I supposed to say to that?_ "If we are all damned regardless…" I suggested weakly, unwilling to finish my pessimistic thoughts aloud, although Carlisle evidently could already guess where they were headed.

"_Please_, Edward. You must realize that God would have to be completely _tyrannical_ to do such a thing as damn an entire people because of a thirst _he_ gave them." _Forget the philosophers' arguments to explain away the Problem of Evil, such a thing would be impossible to justify and maintain benevolence!_

"Then what if he is?" I countered acidly. "What if he _is _tyrannical, Carlisle? We cannot really know, can we?!" I shouted in enraged hysteria, earning a brief, dark glare from Carlisle for daring to insult the one he worshiped, before his expression softened and his mind kicked into hypothetical theologian mode.

"If he is not too benevolent to do such a thing, why care about pleasing him at all?" Carlisle proposed unexpectedly, pausing in his repair work to sweep his hands out to the sides in a pronounced "why not?" gesture. _If our desire for salvation stems from the desire for everything to be fair, just and good, then there really would be no point in seeking after a reward that offered anything less._

I could not believe what I was hearing.

"What?" I staggered back from him in total shock.

"I am not saying that I believe your line of thinking, quite the contrary," he stipulated immediately. "But let's say for a moment that God really is tyrannical enough to make our salvation contingent on a commandment that less than .01 percent of all the vampires in all of history are actually even remotely capable of keeping. Would you really want anything to do with a being that punishes his creations so arbitrarily?" _Would you bow yourself to someone whose reign was so blatantly unfair?_

As Bella, Carlisle's argument made perfect sense. I wasn't really religious, but I understood that hypothetically, if God really was like that, then he ought to be impeached, not worshiped—but I also grasped that this suggestion was entirely impossible from Carlisle's perspective. But as Edward, for some unfathomable reason, ever since I had met Aria, damnation for killing humans seemed to be an unshakeable reality, and in my insurmountable, inexplicable horror, I was desperate to escape it by any means necessary, no matter the implications.

"…If it means escaping the pain of eternal Hellfire…" I mumbled fearfully, the inexplicable terror washing over me again—an involuntary influx of sordid guilt and self-loathing.

"You would cower before a malevolent, sadistic ruler simply to save yourself from pain?" _How could you stand to gain a salvation that was so unfairly distributed? Could you really just sit idly and watch as your friends who should be guiltless writhed in a wholly undeserved Hell? _

"You would do differently?" I demanded, unable to comprehend what he might do instead. Certainly, avoiding damnation at all costs sounded like the best idea to me, even if I did have to let others burn. If I was saved, that was all that mattered, right?

"Hypothetically speaking, I would not stand for it," Carlise avowed poignantly. "Certainly there is not much that I could do against such a force," _If this same malevolent God is also omnipotent, then all of my strength is entirely insignificant…_ "But that would not mean I would simply agree to accept his unreasonable reign. I would fight it," _Until I was obliterated from existence. _"Or at least try."

"You would rebel against heaven." I could not believe it—the idea of the penitently pious man who prayed sincerely every morning and night and poured over religious texts with dedicated frequency leading a charge of angry souls in a rage against the heavens did not fit with my perception of him. All of this devotion he demonstrated, and he would fight that same being whom he claimed he would follow his every command?

"Only if heaven was corrupt. Which is not the case, of course." _I would not be so firm in my faith if it were. _"It is true that, regrettably, God has been rather silent on the issue of vampires. I honestly cannot say definitively either way what he expects or does not expect from us." _It would be really helpful if there was more of God's word which explicitly outlined his expectations for our kind, but alas, we have no such luck._ "But you forget that he still answers my prayers. Frequently, I might add. Apparently I have not lost _all _favor with him. Or do you think the evidence of my faith to be merely delusions of communication with a being who does no actually exist and lucky coincidences?" _Either you must concede that my experiences are genuine, and we are not all damned regardless, or you must believe my experiences to be a farce. I see no other possible conclusion, Edward. _

_Damn it. He has me there. _

"His character does not strike me as tyrannical when I speak to him…" Carlisle added, just to solidify his argment even more, and I resisted the urge to hiss under my breath. _Why did Carlisle's thoughts always have to be so genuine? He can't honestly think that I would tell him to his face that I think he's crazy. Especially since I don't. I might not be an extremely pious man myself, but at least his divine communications feel real enough to me through his thoughts. I can't simply deny that. That would be both ridiculously rude and dishonest. _

I was totally at a loss as to what to say.

Carlisle patted my shoulder again, and bestowed another heart-string-pulling smile, which he was so good at it bordered on manipulative. "Ponder it for a while, Edward," he suggested softly as he gave my upper arm a tender squeeze. "But if you no longer desire to hunt humans, I suggest you inform Aria soon," he said with a suddenly grave voice. "She will be performing the ritual on Esme in three days, and it will not be until the next month that she can perform it again. Obviously your hunger will need to be satisfied before then."

I abruptly stood up. "Carlisle…" "I… I cannot kill either… not if there is any risk like that… I already went to Hell once… figuratively," I added, to wipe the petrified look off of Carlisle's face, who seemed to take my insinuation literally, supposing that before he had transformed me I had traversed the veil of death, and been tormented in actual Hell before he had brought me back. Instead I was referring to the Spanish Influenza itself—that had been pure torture, and I could only imagine that real Hell would be way, _way _worse.

"I do not want to go back," I practically groveled, for how much desperation and agony cracked my voice.

Carlisle frowned deeply, but seemed to accept that I would not be moved on this matter. "Very well, I will contact Aria."


	17. Chapter 16: A Fate Worse than Death

**AN: This chapter is an interesting turning point for the Cullen's I think, but I have to warn that it also discusses some uncomfortable topics (suicide, violence, sexual assault) and one of the characters applies victim-blaming logic to themselves. Please note that the latter is not included because I believe that kind of reasoning to be valid—I actually find it really heartbreaking that people in real life blame themselves for horrible things that happened to them—but because I think that, given the time period, this particular character would actually be taught to feel that way. I think that I make it very clear in the text that victim-blaming should be frowned upon, but I did not want anyone to be confused in the slightest. I think it is rather serious business, because it still happens today, although a little less often, and usually not quite so dramatically.**

**Again, you'll understand when you read the chapter. Hope that's not too spoilery.**

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen: A Fate Worse than Death**

After I had taken upon myself Aria's excruciating thirst-suppression spell, the extreme terror I felt at the prospect of being damned for the mortal deaths I had caused only grew. The guilt which enveloped my whole being as I replayed the grisly scenes of their demises obsessively over and over again in my head was suffocating and made me want to curl up into a ball and cry. Even with the assistance of Aria's enchantment, I struggled and occasionally totally failed to fight off my murderous cravings. And that fact crushed my soul.

Carlisle's unconditionally loving support no matter the hue of my irises helped to allay the heavy burden of shame I carried with me. But as the years went by, I "slipped up" a lot more than Esme did, because while she had never really liked to devour humans, I had once reveled in it, and found the habit of thinking of people as food particularly hard to shake. Of course the spell worked splendidly to repress my natural hunger response, (I was hardly bothered by thirst at all, until my eyes went totally black, or I smelled blood which sang to me) so every time I messed up, that was a sign that I was supremely selfish. A sign that even in the absence of the pain of thirst, a delicious aroma was all it took to trigger my hellish desires.

And knowing all-too-well that the reasons for my failures were primarily because of the simple fact that human blood was tasty, there was nothing Carlisle could do to keep my guilt from further increasing in potency every time I went to have the spell renewed.

I felt that if I were truly an honorable enough man, I would only have had to get the spell placed on me once, and I would have exhibited enough restraint to never succumb to the call of human blood after that. So when I approached Aria each time after her enchantment was shattered by my weakness, I was always initially greatly ashamed to ask for her services again. And as she leered at me with those vibrant green, soul-piercing eyes, and silently made her preparations, the feeling only soured because I could hear her coldly disapproving thoughts, and it pained me to disappoint her.

But the most intense guilt came when I felt the cold metal sting of Aria's magical chains as she restrained me, in order to keep my ravenous mouth away from the bewitching markings she drew on my skin in human blood. Because as I savagely thrashed about, gnashing my teeth and lapping wildly at the air in my best attempt to get some of the forbidden substance on my tongue, I knew that the devilish creature I was in those moments as she awakened and then put to sleep my thirst was who I would be without her help.

Without Aria's intervention, I would be a complete monster.

And with each reiteration of the spell, this knowledge was hammered deeper and deeper into my heart, progressively filling my entire being with obsessive horror with myself, until it began to be unbearable.

In a moment of extreme weakness I had begged Carlisle to use his gift to make me forget some of my torturous feelings. Not to dispel my guilt entirely, but to simply lessen it to some degree—for I knew that without my guilt, I would have nothing to urge me to persist in drinking animal blood, and would therefore relinquish my only hope for obtaining heaven.

But Carlisle had sadly informed me that emotions were something that his powers could not touch, as those were an instinctual, physical reaction, and his powers were strictly mental. Regardless, he had stalwartly refused to alter my mind, because he feared it would breed mistrust between us. His thoughts revealed that he had greatly damaged his most dear friendship—his relationship with Aro of the Volturi—by the misuse of his gift. And he was adamant that he would not make that same mistake with me, no matter how often I protested that I wanted him to at least try to alleviate some of my pain.

It was too bad that the images which accompanied Carlisle's betrayal of his friend were so vague, blurred and washed out, and the sounds were muffled to an incomprehensible murmur. Because if I knew exactly what had transpired between them, I might be able to convince Carlisle that whatever had torn them apart wouldn't be an issue with me. But Carlisle absolutely did not want to think about it, let alone speak, so that route of escaping my pain was unavailable to me.

He was not entirely unwilling to propose other remedies to my agony deteriorating health, which was starting to visibly take its toll on our immortal bodies, greatly worried him. And he thought it strange that both Esme and I seemed much more heartily distressed by the notion of human death than we ever had been when we were consuming criminals. To me it made sense, since the victims of our " slip ups" were almost invariably hapless innocents. But it distraught Carlisle enough that he suggested several times that Esme and I resume our old eating habits.

However, both of us had momentously shifted our perspectives on the matter since we had undergone the spell. What had once seemed to be an excellent way to fight crime and satisfy our thirst at the same time, was horrifyingly repugnant to us now, and neither of us wanted to ever go back to that way of living ever again.

It no longer mattered whether they were guiltless or not—humans were humans.

And although it had never bothered us to consume the wretches of society to satisfy our thirst before, I had no doubts that now Esme and I would wail just as disconsolately, smash everything around us into dust, rubble and splinters just as furiously, and scratch just as hatefully at our own skin if the people we killed when we lost control were culpable or not. It was true that this radical paradigm shift had only taken a few short months, but there was no room for turning back in our minds. Esme and I were absolutely determined to try our very hardest to never cause another human being to die ever again.

It troubled Carlisle that we were both so suddenly violently averse to something which we had accepted with extreme ease before. Especially since Esme and I were now both _more_ averse to the idea of drinking human blood than Carlisle ever had been. We were now against it to the point that even when we exhibited perfect control over our lobotomized thirst, we felt guilty for even feeling the slightest attraction to human blood, as though thinking it delicious was somehow our fault as well. He was not upset that we found mortal demise distasteful, for he rather agreed with us on that front. But our alarming tendency to blame ourselves for that which was beyond our control, such as our body's innate, physiological response in the presence of spilled human blood. And our total revulsion toward drinking even bottled, donated human blood. And the swiftness of our change of heart all struck Carlisle as both as highly illogical and perturbingly unnatural.

And so he started to entertain the ridiculous notion that the spell was messing with our heads.

Which I assured him was totally untrue—I could not fathom how it could be anything else.

But Carlisle insisted upon studying it, nonetheless.

Like the dutiful scientist that he was, Dr. Cullen observed and recorded the irritable behaviors of all who remained under Aria's influence for weeks, to be sure of his conclusions. And from his findings, Carlisle deduced (falsely, in my opinion) that the spell not only did as it was supposed to and shut off the signals our bodies sent to our brains to indicate when we were thirsty—but that it also artificially triggered feelings of despair, fear, anger, and disgust towards everything and everyone associated with the drinking of human blood.

He surmised that it was Aria who was making our feelings grow more potent with each performance of the painful ritual. He said that this would explain why all of us who underwent it displayed such an alarming unwillingness to take the death-free human blood he kept on hand in case of emergencies, but instead steadfastly resisted until our instincts dragged us into the hunt.

Carlisle also claimed that if Aria's spell did more than advertised, it would clarify why the Denali coven, all of whom had once been human-drinkers themselves, were so unforgivingly furious with every vampire who did not choose their current lifestyle. Eleazar was the only one who was immune to this, but Carlisle believed that this discrepancy was easily accounted for, since Eleazar had fervently refused to reinstate the spell just before we had become aware of its existence, and now been free of Aria's unnerving powers for almost a decade.

Without the enchantment, Eleazar couldn't adhere to complete "vegetarianism" any more. Instead, he lived somewhat more comfortably on a mixed diet of animal blood and human blood by hunting and obtaining blood from local morgues and combining the fluids into a single drink, so that he could choke it down all at once. At least, that was what he was attempting to do—frequently he simply abandoned animal blood altogether and reverted completely to his previous, human-slaughtering ways. He also did not share the others' passionate animosity towards the Volturi—which Carlisle believed to have been advanced by the witch's deceptive manipulations—nor feel the tiniest shred of guilt for what he did, aside from the fact that it pained him to go against his mate's wishes.

And for some unthinkable reason, Carlisle thought this was a good thing. He claimed that he was only worried that our self-hatred was artificial, and wanted to protect us from severe emotional harassment. Because that was what we were effectively suffering, if his far-fetched conspiracy theory that Aria was sneaking inauthentic, painful feelings into the spell that was supposed to be helping us with was true.

But from the same depths of my heart that I felt those guilty emotions which Carlisle was worried about, I was also suspicious that he was simply trying to corrupt us. That Carlisle was trying to tear us down, so that we would all become damned like his old friends in Volterra.

I could not believe that he would be so selfish. But what other explanation was there?

Aria was no danger to us—certainly she harbored a deep hatred of vampirekind, and behaved eerily sometimes—but none of that mattered because she gave us the means to earn our salvation. However, because of his suspicions, Carlisle was slowly, carefully trying to persuade us to stop seeing her, to revert to the hellish demons that we once were, because in his mind that would somehow be better. To be irrevocably damned to Hell would be betterthan to be manipulated into sacrificing our well-being, and being harrowed with powerful negative feelings against our will.

From his thoughts I could tell that he was genuinely distressed with what he saw, and increasingly wary around the witch who Esme, I and the Denali sisters fiercely respected and protected. But none of us were ever going to let him hurt her, or force us to stop using her spells.

No matter what he discovered, we would fight until our last breath to make sure such a thing never happened.

…

It was in the midst of this great conflict between Carlisle and Eleazar and the rest of both of their covens about the nature of Aria's enchantments that Rosalie Hale joined us, rather suddenly one day. Despite our recent arguments, Carlisle, Esme and I had settled easily into the roles of the father, the mother and the son, and the latter two of that group were totally unprepared for the addition of a new member. So we were both quite surprised Carlisle unexpectedly returned after having mysteriously disappeared for a few days, in a rather theatrical fashion.

He burst in dramatically through the door utterly without warning, and carried a statuesque, pale-blonde girl bridal-style over threshold of our recently renovated home. The girl's wild eyes were a terrifying shade of crimson, and she was inexplicably arrayed in a breathtaking, expensive wedding dress, complete with a veil. Despite this woman's evident newborn savagery, she was breathtakingly beautiful, with long, shiny hair and a very generously sized chest.

And as Carlisle gently set her on the lushly carpeted floor and introduced her to us as the newest addition to our coven, Esme, whose beauty had faded slightly from adopting an animal blood diet, very nearly had a heart-attack. Or at least, the closest vampire equivalent. Esme (as had all the other women on this diet)had taken to wearing a wig to hide her comparatively hideous, short, brittle hair, and had become very self-conscious about her looks and what Carlisle thought of them. So when Carlisle returned, she jumped to the horrifying conclusion that he was replacing her with this stunning new vampire.

And for a split second I supposed that too—from the dress and her ethereal beauty, despite both of us knowing full-well such an adulterous action was _way_ out of character for him.

I was just about to lunge wrathfully at Carlisle for being so unbelievably shallow and selfish until his thoughts suddenly revealed his true intentions. And then all of my pent up wrath instantly evaporated—it was impossible to be furious when I knew the truth.

But Esme, without the benefit of my gift, was still glaring icy daggers at the mildly confused, gorgeous blonde woman. As Rosalie dashed gracefully over to the nearest couch, her elegant wedding dress billowing around her, Esme emitted a low warning growl, and the usually gentle, maternal woman's thoughts flooded with an overwhelmingly intense, territorial, instinctual rage—_Carlisle is my mate!_ her thoughts practically screamed. _How dare you lay your filthy paws on him! He is mine! MINE! Get away from him or I will rip you apart!_

I was somewhat taken aback in shock by the unnervingly animalistic behavior that Esme was exhibiting. But knowing how deep relationships between immortals could get, and how totally devastated Carlisle was to lose Aro, even though their association was strictly platonic, it should not have been so unexpected that she would react this way in response to a threat against the powerful romantic bond she shared with Carlisle. He was her mate—and that meant that to lose him would be to take away her reason for living.

Carlisle, who was innocently oblivious as to what was going on, seemed bewildered by his mate's jealously infuriated expression. Rosalie too looked perplexed as she moved with inhuman swiftness to sit in our living room and arranged herself atop the cushions of our in a ladylike pose.

I quickly stepped between the two women before Esme foolishly tried to dismember Rosalie, and clarified the misconception verbally. "Esme thinks that this woman," I said coldly, gesturing to the newborn fussing with her luscious hair, "…is a replacement for her. That she is your new wife."

A petrified look overcame Carlisle's puzzled features as my words sunk in.

And the girl whose thoughts were previously wholly absorbed in her unnecessary primping, turned to violent disgust at my proposal that the two of them were romantically involved. _Eww, he may not be that much older than me physically, but he totally acts old enough to be my father… or my _grand_father. Yuck, _Rosalie thought. _Plus, he told me right up front that he was married, because I was confused why he showed absolutely no interest. I still do not understand how this guy can call himself male and not think I am the loveliest thing ever, but somehow he does it. _

As Carlisle's gaze flickered between his incensed mate, and the phenomenally ravishing vampire he had just carried bridal style into the home, in an enormous wedding dress, no less, he immediately understood the source of the misconception. Thankfully, his thoughts were less annoyingly conceited than Rosalie's—which felt terribly inappropriate given the seriousness of Esme's misunderstanding—and more heartbrokenly frantic: _Esme thinks… dear heavens, she thinks I have betrayed her! Looking at Rosalie now I entirely understand why it appears that way… the dress… the bridal-style entrance… I should have thought about that before, but it honestly never crossed my mind. I do not see Rosalie that way at all. Surely you can vouch for me Edward?_ he pleaded with me mentally, as soon as he understood what his wife and mate of twelve years supposed of him after the shockingly matrimonial-looking display he had unwittingly put on.

I nodded to convey my support and immediately, without warning, flashes of the ghastly scene Carlisle had stumbled upon in the streets a couple of nights ago, raced across my mind. I saw Rosalie's traumatized, naked body left torn and bleeding in the streets, through Carlisle's eyes and I felt like I had been stabbed in the chest as I felt the force with which Carlisle was stricken with compassion on this poor, broken and battered woman.

Covering her as best as he could with his woolen jacket, he had carried her swiftly off to a remote location to protect her privacy. He had bit as gently as possible into her skin in several places to save her life, and waited patiently beside her as she endured the exquisite agony of transformation. When the fiery pain at last had ebbed away, Carlisle had graciously taken her back into the city at night to fetch her some proper clothes, and to find someone to eat in order alleviate her ravenous thirst, even though it was painful for him to watch her sink her teeth violently into the neck of a homeless, petty thieving man. After she was fed, she had insisted on retrieving the wedding gown she was meant to wear for her fiancé for some unknowable reason, which I recognized as the gown she had come in through the door with, and the pair had come straight back here after that.

After witnessing this frightening overview of Carlisle's activities over the last couple of days, I turned to my surrogate mother, who had moved into a tensile crouch, prepared to spring at the recent female addition to this house. I slowly parted my pale lips to explain, in the most delicate way possible that Carlisle and Rosalie never had and never would dance the horizontal tango. After the horribly gruesome things which he and I had seen, and knowing that Carlisle had kicked into "doctor mode" immediately upon catching the scent of Rosalie's blood—which diverted all of his focus toward identifying and treating injuries, and left absolutely no room for sexual attraction to develop—I had no doubts whatsoever that Esme's estimation of what had occurred between the two blond vampires was completely out of the question.

"Esme, this is not what it looks like," I began slowly, softly, in an attempt to calm her mounting fury.

This proved somewhat successful as Esme seemed to process what I had said after a moment, and gradually started to relax. She assumed an upright position and readjusted the wig she wore (which had become slightly lopsided from her rapid battle preparations). But espite my trustworthy reassurance, Esme was still making a very concerted effort of melt Rosalie into the floor with the sheer force of her stare—which briefly struck me as hilarious. As a newborn who fed on human blood, Rosalie would easily be able to wipe the floor with Esme. It would be a two-second fight—no a two-second smack-down. Esme would not be able to get a single hit on her—the differences in their strengths was simply too vast.

_Look, lady, _came Rosalie's vicious thoughts._ I did not touch your precious man. It irks me that he's too much of a saint to even really appreciate my magnificence, but I would never go for him anyway. He is really not my type. If he is into older women who hide their falling-out hair with wigs, by all means, you can have him. Clearly he would not recognize beauty if it smacked him upside the head . _Outwardly, however, Rosalie was silent and simply stuck up her nose at Esme, crossed her arms and gave Esme a "whatcha-gonna-do-about-it" look.

She apparently got a kick out of pissing Emse off, even if the pretenses were entirely false.

"Edward, tell me everything that happened," Esme said in a strained voice that was trying to emerge in calm, even tones, but came out wavering with lingering mistrust and envious anger, which were only aggravated by Rosalie's confrontational attitude. _I trust you, Edward, but this woman is showing all the signs of a possessive mistress. How on earth did Carlisle meet her? If she is simply acting to rile me up, then why would Carlisle transform her?_

"Esme… it is a rather long and uncomfortable story," I warned, glancing worriedly at Carlisle to convey my unwillingness to share what I had seen out loud. Rape was a nasty thing to talk about, especially when the wound was still so fresh in Rosalie's mind.

But upon seeing Esme's impatiently tapping heel, I exasperatedly relented, choosing my words with meticulous care so as to not aggravate present company too much. "Rosalie was hurt… _badly_ by her fiancé and his friends." _There, at least that is not too explicit. _"They left her to die in the streets and Carlisle took pity on her." _And saw her naked. But he really was not paying any attention to that—with all the blood and stuff… _ "He transformed her and fed her, nothing more," I reassured Esme with my most serious and sincere tone of voice.

Esme's scrutinizing gold eyes slanted towards Carlisle skeptically. _Carlisle is not the type to be dishonest with his thoughts, so I suppose I must believe you, Edward. But what on earth was with that dramatic entrance? And her clothes… _"Then why the dress…?" Esme asked aloud, her suspicious gaze roving over the long silky white gown which clung perfectly to Rosalie's pronounced hourglass figure. Esme's plump rose-painted lips thinned and twisted ever so slightly downwards as she struggled to mentally resolve the conundrum of Rosalie being arrayed like the perfect bride, and Carlisle apparently not having had any sort of marital relations with her.

"Rosalie is somewhat of a drama queen," I sighed, and although Rosalie hissed at my evident irritation with her desire for theatrics, she totally knew it was true. "She is planning her revenge against the men who hurt her, and she wants them to kill them in that," I added bitterly, before jabbing an ashen finger sharply in the direction of her utterly impractical assassination garb.

Esme's face dawned with mortified comprehension and she shuddered violently at my revelation. _Revenge? In a wedding dress?_ Esme thought in horror._ Is she insane? As a newborn, she'll get blood all over it. We all start out as terribly messy eaters… Not to mention that revenge is such a horrible thing to do regardless. _"She wants to eat them? Those who wronged her?" came Esme's vocal inquiry, her eyes pleading with Rosalie to reconsider.

_No, never again will any part of those men come into me, _Rosalie's thoughts cut in ardently._ I will not stand for it. _

I quickly shook my head. "I do not think so. What they did to her was so disgusting… she does not want any part of them inside of her. Not even their blood."

"She simply wants them dead then… wastefully?" Esme asked bewilderedly, unable to comprehend the idea that a Rosalie would not only kill her perpetrators—which was unthinkably atrocious in of itself—but would even go so far as to neglect to drain their blood afterwards, which would necessitate even more slaughter later. Not to mention that something as cold-hearted, and thoroughly pointless as revenge pricked the fibers of Eme's acute heart. _This beautiful woman wants to commit cold-blooded murder? And even go out of her way not to try and justify them as meals?_

Clearly upset by the prospect of such profligate massacre, Esme frantically spun towards her husband, her false caramel curls tossing around her and sought his eyes out with hers. Her golden gaze glossed with venom like she was about to cry. "Will you allow her to do this?"

"I have been trying to talk her out of it," Carlisle quickly responded, his voice raw with emotion. "But none of us have the strength to hold her back if she were to fight us over it," he rationally pointed out, with a hasty gesture towards us and the evidence of our animal drinking, before his hand stretched out sadly towards Rosalie.

Esme dipped her head and her soft features molded into a sour expression. "That is true…"

"Will she be drinking the blood of humans?" I asked. Suddenly I was concerned that Carlisle would not only permit this woman, of whom my first impression was that she was total bitch to become our new covenmate, but also that he would permit her to abide with us even as she savagely murdered humans for their blood.

Carlisle looked uncertainly at me, then to his mate, before he turned to Rosalie. _Edward, please do not do anything rash if she chooses otherwise. Although it is against my better judgment, you may stay on the spell so long as I cannot conclusively prove it is altering your mind. But I refuse to coerce her into choosing our lifestyle. _

"That is entirely up to you," he calmly informed the curious looking blonde beside him.

"The rest of you do not drink human blood?" she replied quizzically. _I thought that all creatures like this did that. Carlisle said it was the only way to stay healthy. Does that mean the rest of them are sick?_

"That is correct. We drink the blood of animals," Carlisle answered neutrally, directing two fingers towards his honey-toned eyes and the eyes of Esme and myself to indicate that they were the most blatant evidence of this fact.

Rosalie's dubious gaze followed his movements and she wrinkled her nose in confused disgust. "Is that even edible?"

"Edible? Certainly," Carlisle said brightly with a cheery smile. _Or at least it is swallowable with some effort…_ he thought truthfully."But pleasant? …not so much," he offered with a resigned sigh. _You will probably think it tastes like liquid dirt. That has been my experience, at least._ "Animal blood can keep us alive, but our health suffers as a result, it does not fully satisfy us, and Esme and Edward must use a…" he searched for a neutral term, "…enchantment to assist them in managing their thirst," he added to clarify that it was the nutritionally illogical option, and that since our restraint was impossible without outside support, it was also unnatural.

_You really probably would not like it, _he thought._ I think that sticking to human blood suits you better, Rosalie. I do not like to see humans suffer… but I do not like to see vampires suffer either… Edward and I may struggle with the idea of causing human death, and Esme may not want to upset me, but it wounds me to see us so woefully undernourished. I am working on a substitute, but you, Rosalie do not have to submit yourself to the pain in the meantime. Especially when I am concerned about Esme and Edward's current remedy… I am not prepared to pressure that upon you when I am suspicious of it. So I will leave the choice in your hands. _

I did not like the fact that Carlisle was unwilling to play up the perks of his diet, or even mitigate the downsides a little to make it sound more appealing—Rosalie would never choose to drink animal blood willingly when he framed it like that. And Carlisle knew it. And he also knew how I felt about the so-called "natural vampire diet"—that I passionately hated it and believed that all who fed in that manner were unanimously damned without exception. Why then was he so obviously nudging her in the direction of adhering to traditional vampiric methods? Was he really doing it for the reasons he thought, or simply to spite me?

"Either way, I will respect your decision," Carlisle promised magnanimously, with warmly outstretched arms to visually demonstrate that Rosalie was welcome to join our coven regardless of her choice.

_I have not even had a proper whiff of animal blood yet, but the whole concept sounds disgusting, _Rosalie thought_. And those two cannot even stand to live that way without some kind of freaky black magic? No. Humans are jerks. I am perfectly fine continuing to eat them. _"I think that—"

This conversation was not going the direction I wanted, so I intervened with my vehement objection. "No! She should adapt to our lifestyle or leave," I demanded furiously. I stabbed an angry finger toward the modest wooden front door through which Rosalie had come to illustrate my passionate desire for her to do exactly that. "I refuse to live with a monster!"

"Edward!" Carlisle cried out in affronted shock. _This is not your decision. Back off._ "A diet on animal blood should never be forced on anyone. You and I both know that to do such a thing is impossibly cruel!"

"No what is _cruel_ is to let her _murder_ people for their blood! What kind of sick monster lets someone do that? Especially when she's going to Hell for it!" I shouted with a venomous snarl. I enraged that my surrogate father was effectively, from my perspective, pressuring this young adult woman into an eternity of condemnation for the petty reasons of increased stamina and unearthly beauty.

Rosalie stiffened at the mention of the word Hell. _What are you talking about? That's right, Carlisle told me about your powers. You had better explain. _

Carlisle, however, seeing Rosalie's disturbed expression and guessing her internal musings, beat me to the punch: "Edward believes us to be damned if we kill humans for their blood. I do not share his outlook, at least not any longer…" he added, to make sure not to make the same mistake of only sharing his current beliefs, and frighten her with the possibility of damnation later. "But he sees taking human lives as a grievous sin." _At least, ever since he met that creepy witch he thinks that…_

I scowled at Carlisle for insulting Aria, and Rosalie laughed at his statement—the sound was merciless, shrill and piercing. "Well it does not matter anyway. I am already going to Hell," she announced as though her filthy, unsalvageable soul was already firmly affixed in the bottomless pit and there was no power on heaven or earth that could possibly uproot it from that awful location. "Those men took from me something I can never get back. Whores don't go to heaven. So if I am going to Hell, then I am going to make damn sure that I drag those godforsaken devils with me!" she yelled loudly enough that the walls of the house shook slightly. And she clenched her fists so tightly that I wondered if she might crush her own fingers to dust from the amount of pressure she was exerting on them.

"And while I am at it… I might as well enjoy myself, right?" she finished with a demonic, lopsided smirk.

_She thinks she is damned because she's a rape victim? _I thought bewilderedly. _What kind of twisted logic is that?_

"Rosalie. You do not need to blame what happened to you on yourself," Carlisle soothed, with an empathically wounded look on his face. "They hurt you, but that does not make you past redemption."

"Surely your parents told you what happens to girls who let men touch them before they are married…" Rosalie countered acidly with a glare so cold that Carlisle instantly froze when it fell upon him.

"There was absolutely nothing you could do to prevent that," he justified with deep concern etched into his chiseled features. "They… did not really give you a choice…"

"I was asking for it though, wasn't I?" she practically screamed now, her fury with her underserved eternal sentence blazing hotter as Carlisle fought diligently to disprove it. "That is what all of my friends would say. Such a pretty girl all alone at night, she should have known better than to tempt them…"

"That is no excuse for what they did, Rosalie. Nothing can excuse that!" Carlisle spat in complete repugnance at the idea that anyone would attempt to rationalize such a heinous crime with an excuse which capitulated all the blame on the utterly innocent victim. "Imagine the situation in reverse," he urged her to consider. "What if it was me who was walking down that street and a group of women decided to assault me? Would I be under condemnation for simply being attractive?"

Rosalie's face looked like Carlisle had just declared that the sky was purple with yellow polka dots. The situation Carlisle was describing seemed totally impossible in her mind because she had been raised to believe that a woman carrying out a sexual assault on a man was not simply culturally unthinkable, but physically impossible. Also, the idea that a group of women would possess enough cumulative sex drive among them to even attempt such a thing was beyond her ability to comprehend—she had been taught that men enjoyed sex and women endured it in order to have children. Women certainly never would seek it out when a man was unwilling.

Rosalie, like most high-class women in this era, had been fed a slew of misogynist lies, and was unable to believe that situation Carlisle was describing had ever occurred. She was right, in a sense—Carlisle himself, thankfully, had never endured anything of the sort—but I could see in his mind that he had heard of such things happening, both among humans and in the vampire world, where physical strength differences between men and women were less pronounced. He also was well aware, having been married for twelve years, that women enjoyed physical intimacy just as much as men did, and were no more or less corruptible in that regard than men. Certainly the expectations of patriarchal society permitted more leeway for men to victimize women than the other way around. But Carlisle, with the strong egalitarian outlook he had developed over his centuries of observation of the sexes, could not imagine that heaven would operate on such a blatant double-standard.

Sexual assault, in Carlisle's eyes, was one the worst things a person could possibly do to another, and he was not the only vampire to feel that way. Rape was not a crime that the Volturi enforced laws against worldwide, but if Aro ever came to know about it—which he invariably did at some point—he would personally execute the rapist for it, because he knew intimately, through his gift, how much that foul, degrading crime hurt. He had endured the excruciating details of the trauma—secondhand, of course, but no less potently—hundreds of times.

And Carlisle had witnessed one of these brutal executions during his stay.

And the rapist had been a woman.

"Is that… Is that even possible?" Rosalie asked in evident alarm, grudgingly accepting that she was somewhat naïve, after the incident which had led to her transformation, but unwilling to believe the prospect without some kind of intellectual proof.

Carlisle nodded in assent. "Yes, Rosalie. It never happened to me, but it does happen. More often than you think."

_But then… _she protested mentally before Carlisle's earlier words rang forcefully in her head: _Would I be under condemnation for simply being attractive? _She paused with a concerted frown to reflect on his words. _Is that what is happening here? Am I blaming myself for another's decision that was based on an innate characteristic over which I have no control? I did not exactly try to seduce them… in fact I tried my best to stop them, but there were five of them and one of me, and they were all very drunk, very strong men… Maybe he is right…_

Rosalie's dead crimson eyes showed the first signs of life since she had entered the house—she was not yet completely convinced that she was absolved of all her guilt. But I could tell she was making steps in that direction, which was a good sign, I guess.

Especially because if she believed she had a chance at heaven, I might be able to convince her to protect that chance by receiving Aria's spell and becoming an animal drinker—not because I particularly cared about her, or her soul. But because I hated the idea that she would cause humans to pass from this earth.

Those who killed humans without remorse deserved a fate worse than death.

…

Several months passed since Rosalie had started living with us. She had taken up residence in one of the unused rooms upstairs and kept mostly to herself, since Esme and I both had severe difficulties getting along with her, and Carlisle was often away. He was either at work laboring to save human precious lives, visiting the Denali coven to discuss his worries about with Eleazar, or holed up in our basement trying to create a substitute for human blood in the high-tech private science lab he had created for himself. But one day when he came home from work, I discovered something positively horrible in Carlisle's mind and decided to give him a hearty slap on the face.

Carlisle recoiled from the stinging impact of my palm, more in shock than pain—although I had hit him rather hard—and instinctively raised a hand to cradle the injury, with an expression of deep hurt marring his elegant features. "Ouch!" _Where on earth did that come from? Was I thinking something unpardonable?_

"Might you tell what inspired this, Edward?" Carlisle enquired confoundedly.

He staggered back from me a few steps to place himself out of my immediate reach. That way he might be able to react before my wrathful hand could connect with his face again.

"You created Rosalie with the expectation that she would become my mate?!" I yelled.

I was positively nauseated by the prospect of being so fervently intimate with the vain, human-slaughtering, self-important drama queen who acted like she owned the place whenever she deigned to make an appearance. The mere idea of such an unholy matrimony of disparate souls was utterly repugnant. Especially since I was aiming for heaven, and she was a remorseless murderer who killed to eat and had exacted cold-blooded revenge on five men who, although reprehensible, should not have died at her hands.

"I thought perhaps it could be a possibility…" Carlisle admitted sheepishly. _When you took upon yourself the spell, you became extremely distraught. I had hoped, since Esme seems to be coping somewhat better, that perhaps a mate would be able to assist you to be happier as well._ "But that was not why I did it," he defended quickly, with raised hands, palms outward in wary "stay back" position to suggest that I should not injure him again. "It was only while I was waiting for her transformation to be complete that I had the thought that maybe…"

I released a low, guttural growl to voice my displeasure and Carlisle immediately, wisely ceased speaking along those lines.

"But if you do not desire that, then there is no issue," he assured frantically. "She does not desire you either, it would seem, so all is well." _I am not sure we could cope with the drama of unrequited love on top of everything else going on right now. I really need to get to the bottom of what this spell does soon. _

"I do not care about your pointless investigation. Give it up Carlisle! Esme and I are not drinking human blood!" I said with a disdainful sneer. "I know that you drink bottled human blood sometimes, and you keep it from Esme. But you are not going to force your ways on us!"

"I do not intend to, Edward," Carlisle said with concern, floating backwards a few more steps over the tiled kitchen floor. "I simply worry that you are already being forced—by Aria. If that is not the case, I will desist," he promised coolly.

My lips curled into a mistrustful frown. "And if it is? Or at least if you think it is?"

"If I can be absolutely certain that she is coercing you, then it is my responsibility to make sure that she stops doing so. I do apologize in advance if it comes to that, but I will not stand for you to be manipulated, Edward."

"You would take away our only chance at heaven. You would damn us all." I crouched, my vision angrily hazing over with red as I prepared to rip Carlisle to shreds if need be to protect my precious salvation. Nothing was going to stand in my way.

_No, Edward, I would never do that. But heaven must be chosen by one's free will. No one can force you there. I will stop Aria if she is using compulsory means. _

"I will not let you do this! I will drag Rosalie to her if that is what I have to do to protect Aria!"

"Leave Rosalie out of this!" Carlisle barked back, fiercely protective of his new "daughter". _I will not let her be wrapped up in something that is potentially very unsafe. Until I can say for certain that there are no mental or emotional compulsions being introduced by Aria's enchantments, I do not want Rosalie to receive them. They could be dangerous, Edward. _

But I was already halfway up the stairs before Carlisle's thoughts were finished, ready to make good on my threat, and carry Rosalie off to meet Aria, and demand that Aria put the spell on her—maybe then Rosalie would have some proper remorse injected into her. Maybe then, Carlisle would finally understand the blessing it would be for all of us to drink the blood of animals together.

I was so single-minded in this pursuit, that I never gave one thought to the fact that I might fail in my quest.

Nor did I ever think that no matter how many times I attempted to convince her to receive the spell willingly that each time our verbal arguments would inevitably spiral out of control into a physical fight that I could never win.

…

The bright yellow rays of the sun were flickering intermittently through the pale blue curtains of Carlisle's study as he carefully reached down to lift another fragment of my neck off of his desk. The polished surface was littered with all sort of tiny pieces of my diamond-hard flesh, since I had been furiously ripped to shreds by a vampire much more powerful than myself only a few hours before, and Carlisle was trying to put me back together.

Although my body was mostly reassembled at this point, there were still a few little pieces here and there which Carlisle had to fit back onto my body like a morbid jigsaw puzzle. My legs and torso were entirely fixed now, and sheathed in a comfortable pair of dark jeans, but I remained shirtless to more easily allow Carlisle to fill the little holes which riddled my arms, shoulders, neck and face.

Carlisle lifted the piece of neck in his hands gently to his mouth, coated it in his venom, and pressed it back into the place where it belonged. As he positioned the venom-coated piece back into place and held it against my throat for a moment, it began to reattach to the skin surrounding it and no longer required his hand's support. When his fingers drew away from my broken skin, Carlisle's expression switched from one of medical concentration, to one of fatherly reproach.

_Here it comes, _I thought, preparing for the mental and verbal onslaught that was sure to come.

"Edward. What did Rosalie do this time?" _I really wish you would not try to start pointless fights, _he pleaded with me as he deftly reached around the table for another fragment—this one a large chunk of my cheek—and repeated the same disgusting process. It was gross to watch Carlisle drool his venom all over the chunk, before sticking it back into the perfectly-shaped hole, where it seamlessly reconnected with the fibers around it.

_I would intervene, _Carlisle thought._ But then I would probably get torn apart as well, and I cannot guarantee that Esme would be able to reassemble me properly if I was dashed to this many pieces. _Carlisle settled another finger-sized fragment of flesh against my collarbone and patiently waited for the venom he had coated it in to sink into the underlying tissues and stimulate the cells to re-join.

"You would not understand," I barked harshly, upset that Carlisle did not, and probably never would totally understand my motivations for repeatedly arguing with Rosalie about her dietary choices. "Obviously your pet daughter is more important to you than me."

A look of extreme hurt shadowed over Carlisle. "And why do you say that?" _Edward, I love you both equally. My relationship with you may be different, but it is not worth any less to me, if anything it is worth more, because I have known you longer. Rosalie is still so new…_

"You let her get away with murder. _Literally,_" I droned caustically, staring deeply into Carlisle's eyes with a seething emotion shining behind my own.

"If you chose to return to that lifestyle, I would not protest it either, so it is hardly as though I am being unfair," he related prudently.

Carefully, Carlisle twisted my left upper arm to examine the quarter-sized hollow space in my skin, which exposed the muscles and venomous channels beneath. He inclined his head slightly to the side to memorize the jagged shape, before he attempted to discern which piece would fill it among the shrinking pile of flesh fragments on his desk. After lifting a few of the ashen, glittering shards into the sunlight drifting lazily in through the window and giving them a closer look, he selected the one which looked most like it would fit into the hole he had scrutinized earlier, spat a sticky glob of venom upon it, and moved to stick it in place.

"How can you do that? How can you be so apathetic about this?" I shrieked, the volume startling him and causing him to step away from me before the fragment he was holding had completely reattached, so that it dropped with a dull thud against the carpet instead of sticking to my arm. Carlisle gave me a dark look for interrupting his work before gingerly bending to pick up the piece that had fallen.

_Edward, I am not apathetic. You know this. I may appear to by apathetic on the outside but…_

Carlisle abruptly straightened once he had seized the fragment off of the thick carpet and spoke the remainder of his thought aloud as he got back to work on reassembling me: "Every time Rosalie goes to hunt I am saddened by the loss I know that is occurring," _I imagine the faces of the men and women she kills to eat every single time she announces her intention to hunt and it wounds me to the very core to see that. _"But I also am gladdened that she is healthy," _Her strength and vibrant glowing skin… I wish that all of us could have that._ "The rest of us are not," he declared with a sorrowful, conflicted expression, simultaneously perturbed by Rosalie's human slaughter and distressed by the ill-effects that unsatisfied thirst had on the rest of us. _If there was a way that we could have both…_

But Carlisle shook away the thought before it was fully formed. _That is why I am still laboring to make a substitute whenever I have a spare moment. Hopefully eventually, when our scientific knowledge of human blood is advanced enough, we will not have to sacrifice one's suffering to end another's. _

"However, I do not regret the sacrifices of health I make to protect human life," he clarified vocally, so that I could make no mistake about his feelings on the matter. "But it is not my right to force a sacrifice like that on anyone."

Images of Carlisle's experiments in Volterra, and the tortured expressions on the newborn's faces, especially Vera's flashed before my eyes once again.

"I did that before, Edward," Carlisle recalled lamentingly, "…and I grieve every day for the pain I caused those men and women in my experiments. It was highly unethical of me to do something like that."

I frowned—_he should not pity those wrathful, remorseless devils._ "Carmen seems to be grateful, at least," I pointed out instead, to divert his attention toward the one who had been inspired to find Tanya, Irina, Kate and Aria in order to perpetuate and make sustainable her livelihood on the blood of beasts.

"And that makes me very happy," Carlisle admitted with a tiny smile. _Though I am somewhat concerned for her at the moment._ "But she volunteered," he added with a tone of severity as he lightly fingered another hole on my person. It was a tiny fingernail-sized chunk missing from the bridge of my nose. Carlisle thoughtfully rifled through the pieces he had gathered on the oaken surface of his desk for one small enough to fit precisely into the infinitesimal gap.

"I did not compel her to live on the blood of beasts against her will," he reminded me sternly as he fished out the piece he was looking for. "She chose to follow the diet on her own, even after the experiment was disbanded," he said as he pressed it into place with a little more force than strictly necessary, causing me to wince slightly as the piece rubbed painfully against the raw nerve endings underneath.

"Would you force Rosalie, if you thought it would save her soul?" I interrogated punitively, giving Carlisle pause for a few seconds as he genuinely considered my question.

"Edward. That is what I thought I was doing with the test subjects." His voice was cold and chastising to match the accusatory tenor of mine. _I already made the mistake of trying something like that. Please learn from my mistakes and do not attempt to do the same thing with Rosalie._ "I already explained to you why I no longer hold those convictions," he continued exasperatedly. _And if you cannot bring yourself to believe as I do, at least respect that Rosalie's soul is her own, to save or throw away as she will. You may express your opinion to her, and I have already expressed mine. But I will tolerate no compulsion or coercion in this household. That goes against the free will that God has given us. _

_Like free will really matters when something that big is at stake_, I thought morosely to myself. "You really are going to let her keep killing, if that is what she wants." It was an angry declaration, not a question, because I already knew what Carlisle was going to say.

"As long as she continues to abide by the rules we have established in this house about human-drinking, then I will not stop her," he elucidated softly, just as I had expected.

Carlisle pressed the last piece of my skin into place and stepped back to survey his work to make sure he had not missed a spot before tossing me a button-up shirt. "You really should not try to either. It is… disheartening that I have to put you back together so frequently," he admitted sadly as I caught the shirt easily in my fist and shrugged it hastily over my shoulders.

"And yet she gets to bring home a bleeding human without any consequences?" I asked with a look of disbelieving disgust as I began rapidly closing up the frontal buttons. "I thought that was against the rules."

"Emmett was not food," Carlisle sternly replied, crossing his arms forbiddingly over his chest in displeasure. "Rosalie carried him all the way from Tennessee back here for me to transform him. Could I really say no after she carried him over a hundred miles, all the while resisting her thirst even as he bled in front of her?"

""Yes!" I answered immediately with firm conviction. "Cursing him like this…" I shook my head self-loathingly and dug my fingers hatefully into the front of my recently buttoned shirt. "You should have let him pass into the next world. At least while he still had a chance."

"Edward, we have rehashed our varying opinions on this matter ad nauseam. I would really appreciate it if you would not fight with Rosalie and Emmett about their diets anymore," Carlisle expressed chillily, with a resigned sigh, dropping his arms at his sides in defeat.

"If it is so annoying, then why don't you just stop putting me back together? Just light me on fire and be done with me!" I offered bitingly with my fully-restored arms spread wide in a "strike me down if you dare" pose.

"Edward! How can you say such a thing?" Carlisle asked with sharp concern. _Has the spell really made his self-loathing this severe? _"Do you want to die?"

His comment stunned me for a moment, and I stopped to genuinely consider the prospect.

I knew that my greatest fear at the moment was the possibility of damning myself through mortal murder, rather than my own demise. But could I honestly say with full sincerity of heart that I would rather perish than drink human blood? Because I had slipped up several times since I began worry for my soul and showed no signs of ever entirely ceasing from murder, and yet I was still standing. _Do I really want to die, or am I simply deluding myself into believing that suicide would be a more noble cause? I am not a hypocrite, so I had better decide what I want. Either I can put up with the occasional human dying, or I cannot stand it, and therefore must destroy myself to rid this world of my incurable evil. Because no matter how hard I try, it seems I am destined to eventually kill again._

As I pondered my limited options with great distress, suddenly a crushing, rotten feeling blossomed out of nowhere. It oozed into every ventricle of my heart and seeped deep into my bones at the idea of having another mortal death on my hands. That feeling ended up being the deciding factor.

_I cannot live with myself if I cause any more deaths,_ I realized morosely.

_Therefore in order to prevent that, I must die._


	18. Chapter 17: Terminal Desire

**AN: If Edward's logic seems hasty, or inconsistent these last few chapters, that is completely intentional and not simply bad writing on my part. Since Aria repressed his physical pain of thirst, he's become extremely emotionally distraught, constantly on the brink of starvation without Carlisle's self-memory modification to sooth his mind, and brain-addled by the spell, all of which interfere greatly with rational thinking. So he's all out of sorts. And I think that is coming through. ;)**

**For those of you eager to get back to the present, I promise this is the LAST chapter from Edward's perspective. Sorry if it seems draggy, this is my first fanfiction, so I am still learning. :)**

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen: Terminal Desire**

It was several days later that I decided to make good on my oath to end my existence.

Every time I saw or smelt the forbidden dark red ambrosia that was human blood, my skin trembled and ached with the desire to drink it—and each time my body reacted this way, I was enveloped in an exquisite agony of both body and spirit. I had become completely submerged in the mire of rotten guilt for my unforgiveable weakness. Shame smothered my whole being whenever my mouth pooled with venom. And I now constantly felt buried beneath the intolerable weight of crushing despair. But that was not ultimately what had spurned this important decision.

Although I was completely petrified with terror at the idea of possibly being sent to Hell despite all my best efforts, I believed that it was the most noble thing to do, in order to prevent more human deaths. I prayed for the first time since my transformation that my sacrifice would not be in vain—that whoever was in charge of determining my fate in the world to come would take into account the intentions behind what I was about to do. That they would recognize that I was selflessly forfeiting my life to prevent taking any more lives in the future, and not merely selfishly ending my pain.

No, I had a much worthier cause.

At least that is what I repeatedly reassured myself.

And if I turned out to be damned regardless, it hardly mattered anyway.

I knew that death was not easily obtained as a vampire, and certainly would not be a pleasant experience. But I was single-mindedly determined to realize my fatal desire—to utterly destroy the despicable monster I had become from off of the face of the earth.

I had tried for eight years to redeem myself by finally completely overcoming my thirst. But since I had shown almost no progress towards my burning desire to never kill another human again (making an incurable habit of 'slipping up' every one or two years) death was the only option I saw left for myself.

Knowing of Carlisle's earlier unsuccessful attempts to self-terminate, and from the few blurry images I had seen in his mind of the execution methods that the Volturi used, I already was well aware that fire would be most likely to supply the devastation I wanted. And I had been secretively making my preparations for several weeks now.

Thankfully it was not too difficult to assemble everything I needed to carry out my self-extinguishing ends, as the only equipment this method necessitated—a lighter and some lighter fluid—were already innocently lying around the house. But I wanted to make absolutely sure that none of the others were aware in the slightest of my plan until it was already completely carried out. Because I knew that if Carlisle and Esme were to ever discover my suicidal intentions that they, in their horribly misguided compassion, would totally obstruct me from ever reaching my goal. For although Carlisle could empathize with my feelings, (his first act as a vampire was to hatefully cast himself off the highest cliff he could find, hoping to be dashed to smithereens against the jagged rocks below) with his centuries-warped perspectives, and his recent, unreasonable fears that I was being mentally and emotionally manipulated by Aria's spell, he would not accept my sacrifice.

So once I had finished making my preparations, I simply bided my time for a few months, searching patiently for the perfect opportunity to carry out my self-destroying scheme. I knew that I would likely only ever get one good shot at this and didn't want to royally screw it up.

But today I was tired of waiting. And since we were planning on leaving the area soon to avoid the suspicion of the locals, who were beginning to marvel at the fact that none of us appeared to have aged a single day since our arrival, Esme was too busy drafting designs for our new house to keep tabs on me. Also, Rosalie and Emmett were out hunting humans in another state at the moment, and Carlisle was away at work.

I figured I would never get a better opportunity.

I thought about doing the horribly clichéd thing and leaving a suicide note to explain to Esme why I was doing this. I knew that when she and her mate at last found the smoldering pile of ash that would be all that was left of me when my benevolent deeds were accomplished here, she might somehow construe an impossible situation in her mind where the blame for my death landed on her. And that notion wounded me to the very core.

But ultimately I understood that if I left a note so clearly announcing my intent to die that she might happen upon it too soon, and rush into the forest to try and stop me in my attempt. And I could not let that happen—so I simply had to hope that the extremely subtle hints I had dropped over the course of the past couple weeks would be sufficient to explain my reasons—that I loathed the immortal fiend I had become; that the savage thirst I displayed even with Aria's spell had proved that my true nature was a monster, and I could not live with myself knowing that I might hurt more people.

I had not said as much so plainly of course. But I had hinted that I hated having such devilish natural desires and that release from them would bring me nothing but the greatest solace. It was a declaration vague enough to leave Esme unaware of my true intentions for now. But I was sure it would stick out firmly in her recollection as she scrounged her memories for the reasons why I had ended my earthly existence.

I was not worried about the others: Emmett barely knew me. He and Rosalie had spent the vast majority of their time together smashing the houses Esme put together for them in the midst of passionate lovemaking. So he would likely not be all that torn up by my absence.

Carlisle would be immensely hurt. But his centuries of witnessing countless deaths had made him strong and thus he would eventually get over it.

And Rosalie, like her mate, would probably not care that I was gone either, which actually sat surprisingly well with me. For although our relationship had improved somewhat, and we now harbored an almost sibling-like rivalry, rather than a legitimate desire to tear out each other's throats, the idea that her merciless crimson eyes would gloss-over with venom upon hearing of my demise seemed fundamentally wrong somehow. Esme's eyes of gilded compassion I could definitely envision that way, and even Carlisle's. But for _Rosalie_ to be brought to the vampire equivalent of tears because her annoying little brother was finally wiped off the face of the planet ought to be against the laws of the universe.

Making sure that I opened and shut the front door to our reclusive home as gently and silently as possible, so that Esme, who was upstairs would not be alerted to my departure, I padded quietly into the copse of trees which totally encircled our home. Once I had reached a sufficient distance, I broke into an inhumanly fast dash, and sprinted deep into the lush heart of the forest in fervent search of firewood to build myself a funeral pyre. When I was secure in the knowledge that I was satisfactorily distant from the soon-to-be-abandoned house so as to not be found before I was finished bringing death upon myself, I set about clearing a patch of dirt in which to create a suitable fire pit. Making sure that there was no grass which might serve as a catalyst for unintentionally starting a forest fire in the area in which I wished to erect my self-immolating pile, I hefted a number of large stones to encircle the area with a radius of about five feet.

Pleased with the apparent sturdiness and safety (for everything outside the fire pit, of course) of the arrangement, I raced off to gather as many fallen twigs and branches as I could find to fuel the fire I sought to create. I also effortlessly snapped a few mossy fallen logs over my legs to produce even more. And when I had finally amassed what I supposed was a large enough bundle, I carefully stepped into the fire pit with the enormous pile of wood.

Working as quickly and intelligently as I could, fearful that Esme might decide to look for me if I remained absent too long, I assembled the recently collected timber and kindling around me in a rough circle. Remembering the skills I'd learned as a boy scout, I placee the beams of wood in the pattern that would facilitate the best upward air flow. Popping open the can of lighter fluid that I had once used to light drained human bodies on fire, I doused the wood in it. After the wood was well and thoroughly coated, I slowly stepped into the center of the pile and poured the remainder of the liquid over my own body, until my clothes were completely saturated with it, and it dripped stickily off my skin. Then, reaching into my back jeans pocket, I drew out a lighter, and took a deep breath.

_This was it,_ I thought.

If I did this, there was no going back.

I flicked open the lighter and after a moment's hesitation I tossed it carelessly into the pile below me, which immediately caught fire. Walls of white-hot flames shot up around me almost immediately, and within seconds the entire collection of wood, and the clothes I wore became enveloped in the raging bonfire. The flames licked quickly away at the fuel I had provided, and started to burn viciously my skin. The pain I felt as the fire began to singe my flesh was excruciating, and I could not restrain the bloodcurdling howl of agony that ripped through my throat. But I did not dare move out of the fire I had made for myself—that would defeat the purpose of all of this. Instead, I simply gritted my teeth and tightly shut my eyes, waiting for the blazing flames to at last consume me.

I felt morbidly gratified as the layers of my impenetrable skin gradually began blackening and burning away one by one, in some places quicker than others. But I hated how slow the process was. The fact that my lacked of a need to breathe would not allow me to miss any of the exquisite agony of my flesh burning by passing out from suffocation as the thick black smoke billowed around me was disheartening. But as I smoldered away slowly I realized that there was one way to lessen the pain at least.

Sinking my sharp teeth deeply into the flesh of my right upper arm, I sliced easily and mercilessly through my own heavily damaged skin. I twisted the appendage sharply with my other arm, until it snapped free, with a horrible crunching sound like breaking ice, and fell twitchingly into the flames. Although for a few moments the pain was excruciating, now that the nerve endings were severed from my brain, the pain was somewhat less intense. I was still screaming torturedly, despite the fact that the smoke had charred my yowling throat raw, because of the intensity of the hurt. But the volume was not nearly as loud as it had been before.

Eager to cut off more of my nerve endings to lessen the pain, I set about using my teeth and remaining arm to detach both of my legs, causing me to topple helplessly backward into the bonfire, before finally angrily chewing through the other arm and spitting it loathingly out of my mouth to be lost amid the morbidly dancing flames. Limbless, and with vocal chords so badly scorched that all I could manage was a gasping, dry gurgle, I laid back and closed my eyes waiting impatiently for the last scraps of remaining skin and subcutaneous fat to burn away. Once again I wished that the acrid black smoke enveloping me could asphyxiate me, so that I would not have to wait until my body was completely reduced to ash to finally find death.

_I should have built a hotter fire so that this would happen faster,_ I thought, as my raw muscles and bones caught flame in some places, and my flopping limbs fell away to ash.

But I was not given much longer to ponder how I might have done this as, above the roar of the flames around me, I heard panicked voices approaching. Then two people's frantic thoughts arrested my telepathic senses at the same first was a man's voice, urgent and ragged with desperate worry, but authoritative and level-headed sounding. "Esme, I think he went this way, the smoke…!" _Oh please Lord let us not be too late. _"Hurry!"

The second was a woman's, higher-pitched and on the brink of hysterical. "I see him! Over there!" _Oh my heavens… he's made himself a bonfire! Edward! _"Carlisle you have got so save him!"

"I do not know if I can… he is already so far gone…" The man rationalized as he swiftly drew closer to where I lied, sizzling on the brink of death.

"Just get him out of the fire!" The woman screamed in horror. "Now, Carlisle!"

I tried to protest, to tell them I wanted to die. But before I could choke any horrid sound of my scorched throat, two strong arms hastily reached through the flames, circled around what was left of me (mostly just a blackened and raw torso and head) before quickly pulling me out of the bonfire and rolling with me against the ground to smother the flames which still clung to my skin. As we tossed dizzyingly in the grass, I heard a trickling of water as Esme slowly put out the fire, and I cursed inwardly that my plans had been foiled when I was so close to achieving my desire.

And to what end? I did not fully understand the extent of our natural healing abilities, but Carlisle had told me that at the very least my limbs would not grow back. And I highly doubted that my destroyed muscles and skin would come back very easily either, if they grew back at all. Now I was not only cursed to live as a monster, but as a barely living, blackened stub of a person who probably would be unable to even feed myself. I would likely live out the rest of my days in intolerable agony, if the exposed nerve endings stinging sharply against the fibers of Carlisle's soft shirt were any indication.

Perhaps I could convince Carlisle that it was better for him to simply put me out of my misery himself, once he realized that there was no way to restore me to a comfortable existence—that was my only hope.

But as the man tenderly cradled my half-vampire, half-ash person to his, his thoughts were whirling with every feasible method to restore as much of my body and comfort as possible. And I felt his unwavering determination to come up with something—no matter how arduous or dangerous, which might save me both from death and a life of endless torment. Despite this, I still clung onto the confidence that eventually he would be forced to realize he had stepped in to salvage my body from the flames too late, and would compassionately hasten my passing himself.

Or even simply let me starve to death—nothing could save me now.

I was as good as dead anyway.

At least that is what any logical person would think, until Carlisle's mind conjured up a picture of a shapely, young immortal female with choppy brown hair, and obsidian black eyes—one of his test subjects from his time in Italy. She had been able to restore the entire arm of an angry white-haired vampire, which had been lost a thousand years earlier to a fearsome supernatural beast. Vera, I learned was her name, and although her powers took quite a toll on her system, requiring her to drink human blood, and copious amounts of it whenever she performed healings on extensive injuries, she was likely the only person in the world who could do something about the terrible state I was in.

And just as quickly as the paralyzing knowledge of the existence of a vampire with such a power emerged, Carlisle decided immediately that he would contact the Volturi and beg them to allow him usage of her powers to save me.

I wanted to scream at him that I wanted to die. But my neck had been badly burned, making it impossible to speak, so instead I decided to use what vestiges of muscle tissue I had left and thrash wildly in rejection of his attempts to save me. Instead of letting go, though, even when he began to understand that I was twitching in rebellion and not in pain, Carlisle's grip only tightened. _Edward please, I am only trying to help! This is not like you! Think of Esme… she would hate to lose you._

Through Carlisle's mind's eye I looked up into the shining eyes of his mate, who choked out a dry sob as her loving gold eyes looked over my hideously burnt body, and I suddenly wished that I could look away. I could not bear to see her like this.

"Esme, telephone Aro, and tell him what has happened," Carlisle instructed with surprising cool, despite the urgency of the situation. "Tell him to send Vera if he is willing. Or allow me to take Edward there, whichever he prefers. Tell him I swear on my life not to touch him or any of the members of his guard—if I attempt it, they may exterminate me—and that this is an absolute emergency."

Carlisle watched Esme nod curtly in understanding and dash back to the house to do just that—all of which I saw through my telepathic gift. He stayed with me, cradling my singed, hairless head as carefully as possible to avert causing any avoidable pain and peeled away the last remnants of my scorched clothing where they stuck greasily to my body in preparation for Vera's arrival.

_Please Edward. Find the will to live, _he pleaded with me in his thoughts. _If there is anything even remotely worth existing for, cling onto that with everything you have. Vera will be here shortly to restore you. _

I laid my head back into Carlisle's palms and inwardly sighed.

I had failed.

…

Vera arrived on the scene several hours later, in the company of Felix, Jane, Alec and several lesser guard members whom Carlisle did not recognize. He could not ascertain much about these others, as their faces were completely obscured in the shadow of the hoods of their black cloaks. But all of them appeared to be of exceptional muscular build. I guessed that these bulky vampires were acting as bodyguards to ensure that Aro's most valuable assets were well protected. Jane and Alec could protect themselves with their formidable gifts well enough, so I suspected the main reason they were here was to protect Vera, the miraculously powered female sent to save me.

It was rare that Vera ever left the castle, since her powers were limited in that she could not heal injuries on herself, and the Volturi could not afford to lose her. But as an extremely generous favor to an old friend, Aro had permitted her to come, so long as Carlisle and his mate agreed to keep their distance from her. Any sudden movements in her direction would be interpreted as a threat and would be neutralized accordingly.

At least that was what I had gathered from the sparse vocal conversation, and thoughts of everyone congregated nervously outside of the room I lied in. But what unnerved me the most about this situation was not the presence of eight unfamiliar, human-drinking, battle-trained vampires in such close proximity to my person—if they wanted to kill me, I would gladly welcome it. No, what was far more upsetting was the fact that aside from the vampires, I also detected the presence of three plainly dressed humans in the room. They were bound tightly in thick ropes, and gagged with cloths to prevent their terrified screams from becoming a nuisance. The trio of mortals seemed to have a pretty good idea of what their fate was, as they had heard the bone-chilling screams of many others whom had been fed to the Volturi, and they shivered fearfully among their undead captors.

I was mortified to discover from Felix's thoughts that they would be fed to Vera once she exhausted her energies saving myself.

It upset me that Carlisle saw saving my life to be worth the deaths of these three crying, shaking mortals who twitched inconsolably in Felix's grasp. He cast a hopelessly sad look in their direction once, but he put them out of his mind as quickly as he could, accepting the sacrifice it was going to take to save me. The notion that the gentle doctor was vastly uncomfortable with, but grudgingly accepting of this grim reality made me want to scream wrathfully that I wanted to die for this very reason, to prevent more human deaths done in my name. But although I twitched relentlessly on the stale cot and managed to make a disgusting wet coughing sound in protest, Carlisle refused to listen to me. His thoughts revealed that he believed Aria to be responsible for my bitter self-loathing, and since I was being manipulated by her, he would not take my terminal desire seriously. Instead he was planning on killing her to release me and the others from her manipulations as soon as he could inform Eleazar of what had happened.

Apparently my suicide attempt was conclusive enough evidence of foul play.

Again, I wanted to passionately declare that the witch had nothing to do with how I felt—that although she was the one who had introduced me to the ideas which had spurned my fatal longing, she was not responsible for making me feel guilty for the crimes I had committed. I was fairly certain I had managed that all on my own. But as Vera circled closer, flickering her scrutinizing scarlet eyes over my clotheless, blackened stub of a body, I felt the words—or at least my best attempt at them—dying on my lips as more of Carlisle's thoughts manifested themselves in his mind.

_I should have been more watchful of you, Edward. This pain, these deaths... they are all my fault. If I had only noticed your pain sooner, I could have intervened before something this severe was required to save you._ Images of the Volturi throne room and eight completely drained human bodies surrounding Aro and Carlisle flickered vividly through my telepathic vision before he continued: I_ think I am beginning to understand how Aro must have felt when I nearly killed myself in neglect... why he did what he did to save me,_ he reasoned mentally._ Perhaps it is unforgivably selfish of me, but if they must die to save you..._ the poor, quivering humans were conjured up in his mind for a few brief seconds before they faded sharply into black._ I suppose that I can live with that. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me, as I forgave Aro. I... cannot bear to lose another friend._

_No Carlisle, I cannot forgive you. Please do not do this! _I tried to communicate by willpower alone, since my injuries rendered me mute. But of course my pitiful attempt at thought-projection was completely in vain.

Vera, whose hair was much longer now than in Carlisle's memories—falling past her knees instead of choppily to her ears—settled into a comfortable stance at my bedside.

"Carlisle, I have never attempted a healing of this magnitude before," the woman breathed, her voice hesitant and somewhat wary. _Could it be possible to drain so much of my power in trying to save him that I perish? _she worried, before deciding if it came to that she would merely pull away when she began to feel faint.

"If it is at all possible to restore him completely, I will be needing much more than the paltry snack Felix brought for me," she informed Carlisle matter-of-factly. "This is your territory, so in accordance with tradition I ask for the permission of the coven leader to hunt in the area when I am finished here." _I may still harbor a grudge with you for those months I spent under your wretched experiment. But as a representative of the Volturi it simply would not do to ignore the proper etiquette in these situations. Especially not when dealing with a man with such a dangerous power. _

Carlisle nodded his somewhat reluctant assent from the other side of the room. "May I make one stipulation?" he requested cordially, with the slightest downward inclination of his head. _Please agree to my conditions, Vera. My family has established peace in the area and I would hate to catalyze a war. _

Vera looked at him quizzically, not missing the infinitesimal humble gesture and finding it wildly out of place—Carlisle was in charge in these lands, not her. "You may make any stipulations you like, since this territory is yours. Of course, if I break them, it is up to you and your covenmates to punish me," she reminded him, which both of them knew would not go over very well with her increased strength. _I could easily physically defy you. But I do not want to if I do not have to, so choose your stipulation wisely, Carlisle. _

Carlisle gave another short nod. He seemed to understand Vera's unspoken declaration to do as she pleased if she felt that Carlisle's restrictions were too ridiculous. He would be utterly unable to actually punish her in the event that she transgressed them, especially with her guard to protect her.

"I only ask that you refrain from hunting in the immediate area," he entreated carefully, folding his hands neutrally in front of his heart. _Aro would not appreciate it if my friends on the reservation killed you to protect the humans in that area. He is displaying an unusual amount of trust even allowing you to be here. _"Our coven appreciates a low profile and we have made a treaty with the supernatural community to not feed from humans in this town. I would suggest you go to Seattle, or Port Angeles if you must obtain further nourishment," he continued impassively to explain his reasoning. He hoped that the additional information would further convince Vera to make this small concession, and not risk disturbing the peace which kept the humans unaware.

"A treaty? With the witches?" Vera enquired, with a suspicious curiosity burning in her scarlet eyes. _I do not trust their kind._

"A witch is part of this, but most of those we negotiate with are not witches, precisely," Carlisle offered honestly with a wavering hand to suggest that her hasty assumption was partially correct, but that there was slightly more to the story. "The concept is similar—they are humans who have inherited latent powers that are triggered in the presence of vampires, but their magic is different." _They shapeshift into wolves, instead of use spells, but if I were to tell you that, you might assume that I have a pact with the Children of the Moon—which is a crime under Volturi law. They are completely different from those vile creatures, but it is easier if I simply do not mention it. _

"Curious," Vera responded flatly, without any actual interest. Instead her eyes were completely affixed on my charred, limbless form and her mind was churning with preparations for the incredible exhaustion that was sure to overcome her when she was finished giving her best attempt at healing me. "I am certain that Aro will want to know more about it. But we will not infringe on your treaty. I can see that it is important to you, and it is our custom to honor all pacts, as long as they are not made with Children of the Moon, of course."

"...Yes, of course," Carlisle agreed with only the slightest hesitance at the mention of the terrifying beasts which the Volturi would be sure to confuse with the comparatively harmless Quileute shapeshifters.

Noticing his extremely slight sign of trepidation at the mention of the Volturi's mortal enemy, Vera gave Carlisle a scrutinizing look, before she decided it to be a coincidence. Suddenly she tuned back to where I lied against the padded, white-sheeted hospital table Carlisle had set up in the basement. "This may hurt a bit," she warned coldly before her delicate hand reached out and pressed against the raw, scorched muscles of my face.

I was about to attempt to hack out a dark chuckle—'this might hurt a bit' was what everyone said when whatever they were going to do was actually going to be ridiculously painful. But I had no idea just how true that was, until my lethargic mind processed the sensation of her fingertips brushing against my corroded flesh, and a piercing yowl of agony cut through the misty air, which could probably be heard from miles away.

…

It was a miracle—I was whole again.

Somehow, Vera had managed not only to restore all four of my limbs, but all the lost skin, muscle, nerves and even hair that had been consumed by the flames in the forest. I did not understand it, and I was certainly not grateful—in fact I was completely livid with my continued survival—but I was in stupefied awe nonetheless. The power that this former test subject of Carlisle's had exhibited was so incredible, and so immense I might have said it trespassed into the realm of the divine, if it did not sap so much of her strength when she utilized it.

But because her talent did have terrible side-effects, when the skin-splitting agony her gift caused as it wrought its ought-to-be-impossible magic finally ceased, and I blinked open my weary eyes, I watched in stunned silence as Vera nearly collapsed from the effort of saving me. Her eyes had turned a bottomless, inky black and her skin was now a disturbing shade of green as she staggered back unsteadily from me. Before she could topple to the hard cement basement floor, however, two of the nameless guards rushed to her side and swiftly caught her in their thick, powerful arms.

Without a word, Felix suddenly yanked one of the hapless humans into his arms. The human let out a muffled shriek before Felix gave their head a jarringly sharp twist, snapping their spinal cord instantly before Esme or I could make any sort of protest. Felix then carried the limp form across his broad muscular arms over to Vera. The other two humans still alive cringed in horrified response to the heartless violence which had just occurred and started to sob, earning a sympathetic look from Esme, before her eyes switched back over to Vera as Felix presented her with her first meal.

Apparently somewhat lightheaded from her recent expenditure of energy, Vera's head tilted circularly in vertigo for a second, before she savagely twisted it downwards and bit deep into the neck of the human held out for her in Felix's arms. I felt sick as her pleased, predatory thoughts washed over me. Her remorseless satisfaction as she eagerly drank up the delicious smelling red blood she found beneath the skin, was particularly nauseating. But although I could physically look away if I wished, there was nothing I could do to stop the telepathic onslaught. I wanted to run away in order to escape my proximally activated powers, but Jane, who was standing protectively near the door was giving me a cold look which suggested that if I tried to do such a thing, she might use her powers on me. And I knew, from her thoughts, that would result in me not going anywhere, but rather crumpling to the ground in paralyzed agony.

For a split-second, I thought about aggravating her as a second attempt at suicide. But I quickly realized that Carlisle would likely try to intervene, and would be punished for his sudden movements towards the door as well. And having no desire to unwittingly instigate the death of my gentle-hearted mentor, nor leave Esme an inconsolable widow, I decided against it.

So instead I simply averted my gaze, as did Carlisle and Esme, as Vera eagerly consumed her three-course meal.

When she was finally done draining all of their blood and sounded her cry of pleasure from feeding, she straightened, with dark burgundy eyes, and handed the corpses back to Felix with the unspoken command to dispose of them. Felix nodded his assent and then Vera wordlessly set off into the distance, with the four nameless guards, presumably in search of additional people to eat. As her dark shape and luscious chocolaty hair rapidly vanished from sight, I morbidly wondered how many others she might murder today in order to fully restore her strength. A noxious, sticky shame accumulated in the base of my heart as I reasoned that the blame for those deaths lied squarely in my hands for failing to completely carry through my suicide attempt. If I had died today, as I should have, those humans would have lived.

If I had died, Carlisle and Esme would not be exchanging remorseful glances, and sadly averting their eyes, knowing what Vera was going to do.

If I had died, Vera would not have become so thirsty from healing me that she would be compelled to kill so copiously.

If I had died, her victims in the city would not be forced to never see their loved ones ever again.

If I had died, I would have saved everyone else who perished today.

But I had not died, and had instead caused so much pain.

I was a monster.

After a few moments of terse silence and nervous looks, Felix dashed after Vera up the creaky basement stairs, out the wooden door and over the hilly horizon. He moved with such potent force and unmatchable swiftness that even to my perceptive eyes he merely appeared as a fuzzy, bulky black shape disappearing into the abundant greenery. As her appointed personal bodyguard it was imperative that he keep an eye on her at all times, and so it seemed, from his disgustingly dutiful thoughts, that he would effectively be babysitting the savage woman as she went on her power-replenishing killing spree. I was thankful to see that he would not be joining her in the feeding frenzy, for he had already satisfied his thirst a few days ago in the throne room with Heidi's recent 'batch' of hapless tourists.

But his last thought before his mind speedily slipped past the range of my powers was that he needed to make sure Vera kept her head together as she hunted. Apparently it was very easy for her to get rather carried away in the throes of thirst, and slaughter humans out in the open, necessitating the deaths of all the witnesses as well.

I fumed at the thought that Vera would be so careless as to not only kill for food, but to also cause wasteful deaths as a result of her famished apathy. But just as I was thinking of racing after the callous, ravenous woman vampire in order to make a futile attempt to tear her head off before she endangered all the inhabitants of Seattle, I became distracted with the slight sound of rustling fabric as the others moved to leave. And then the fearful thoughts of the twins as they slowly drew back from Carlisle, drifting gracefully over the smooth, cool floor, penetrated my mind.

Although they put on a good front with their impassive facial masks, inwardly they were absolutely, run-and-cry-to-their-mother terrified of Carlisle and his powers—which stunned me. I knew that his gift could be unintentionally scary, since it could make you question everything you thought to be reality. But they, and the other Volturi displayed much greater caution and fear than I would have expected from the coven who ruled the supernatural world with an iron fist.

_I am not letting you out of my sight, Carlisle,_ Jane thought as she floated elegantly away from us._ I know that Aro says you have about as much killing intent as a wet sock, but I refuse to be the fool who underestimates you and loses everything because of it. I know what you are capable of if you believe yourself to be under duress... _Jane thought coldly, and an old image surfaced in her mind of Carlisle in Volterra fearfully pushing away an foolishly attacking vampire. The attacker immediately crumpled to his knees and released a throat-splitting scream as soon as Carlisle's pale hand touched his skin, before rolling to the ground, shaking violently and drooling wildly in psychological pain. _...and I have absolutely no desire to sacrifice my memories and my sanity to the likes of you. Master would not appreciate that. _

Knowing that Carlisle could do that, I did not want him anywhere near me either.

To be able to cause such intense mental scarring to make someone howl like that—I could not imagine anything scarier.

But when Alec's thoughts broke into my mind, my terror only increased: _Master says that he has the power of memory manipulation, that all of the five senses in all of your memories he can tamper with using only a single touch, meaning that he could make me remember anything differently if he wanted to. But Master says that his most potent weapon is the power to make people forget. __Although there is nothing he can do about the emotional responses in the memories, Master says that he can wipe entire years worth of sensory experiences from one's mind. Or even all of the experiences you have ever had from your mind, leaving nothing but a jumbled collection of emotions, feelings completely without context and the jarring memory of his mind-altering touch. _

I wanted to gasp, but I choked it back down so that Alec would not break his stream of thought—_Carlisle could delete whole years worth of memories from your mind? Or even delete every thought you had ever had, except for the memory of his_ _touch_? _Had he ever done something like that?_ I wondered with horror. _Was that why he had been kicked out of Volterra with the explicit command to never return or else he would be seen as a threat and exterminated on sight?_

It certainly would make sense for the Volturi to react that way if he had.

But the notion that the completely humane, benevolent vampire around whom I had always felt extremely safe could wipe my mind entirely on a whim was too scary. That he could leave me a drooling, amnesiatic mess, with no past except for the memory of his touch and every emotion I had ever felt in my whole life crammed into an empty nothingness mortified me beyond all comprehension.

Logically, there was absolutely no reason for Carlisle to ever do such a thing to me on purpose. But it unnerved me that it seemed, from Jane's thoughts that Carlisle had only ever done this on accident, when he felt greatly pressured to make someone forget and did not have the time to think up a convincing replacement.

In other words, Carlisle wiped people's memories in self-defense.

It was extremely effective, since it made all those who pursued him with violent desires in mind forget their intentions. But in the heat of the moment, Carlisle's panic apparently caused his power to get somewhat carried away, and he erased more from their minds than was strictly necessary, which could translate into whole years instantly deleted in seconds, or entire lives wiped clean of any experience at all. And the worst part was that if only a portion of their mind was wiped, his "victims" would have no idea of how much time had been lost (at least, not without outside help). Carlisle's ability erased even the sense of chronology, or the passing of time, in their minds, leaving them without even the pitiful assistance of the order and duration of their leftover emotions to develop a convincing theory as to what they had lost.

Alec's fearful thoughts continued: _The only oddity with this power it that when Carlisle deletes memories instead of replacing them he leaves behind a whiteness, Master called it, just a vacant white wall as a placeholder for the missing memories. Master can see it in the minds of others who have been effected by Carlisle and not had their memories restored by him, an obvious indication that something has been removed, but Master cannot tell what that was, even with his gift. It is simply no longer there. The only one who can bring it back is Carlisle, who can restore the memories he deletes as well, if you are willing to risk a second touch. _

_If you are willing to risk a second touch_, I repeated in my thoughts, before settling on the assertion that I certainly would not risk it. If Carlisle took away some of my memories, but not all, I would cut my losses and never let him touch me again. I would not be willing to gamble any more of my experiences on the slim chance of getting those back. It was not worth the risk.

_I refuse to let something horrific like that happen to me,_ Alec thought determinedly as he stared steadfastly into Carlisle's golden eyes. I_ wish I could just cut off his senses and Jane could kill him. But Aro gave strict orders to leave him alive as long as he did nothing to provoke us. Can I say that merely his presence in the world is provoking enough? No... probably not. _

But although I still cared a lot for the doctor, despite his recent confusion that I was being manipulated, I found myself agreeing with Alec's sentiment, which frightened me to no end. Carlisle's existence in the world was a threat to the foundation of reality, and I wondered if he was unbelievably lucky that Aro had befriend him so deeply. Otherwise I was fairly certain that the Volturi would have launched an all-out assault against the man, only to awaken from the confrontation recalling nothing but the touch of a forbidding hand, and the flurry of all their emotions shoved into a vacant expanse of white.

No wonder those he did this to screamed.

It took every ounce of my willpower not to scream _right now_ just thinking about it.

And as Jane and Alec left, slipped slowly backwards away from us, their icy red eyes not leaving Carlisle for a second as their jet black cloaks billowed threateningly around them I had one last terrifying thought before they drifted majestically away into the trees.

Just having the knowledge that Carlisle possessed such a diabolical power was going to drive me utterly insane.

...

Although my increased knowledge of Carlisle's powers caused a great deal of mistrust and debilitating stress to build between him and myself, Carlisle repeatedly assured me that he had learned from his prior mistakes in Volterra and had solemnly sworn never to intentionally harm anyone with his gift ever again. He also promised to give his very best effort to never resort to it in the heat of the moment, unless it was in defense of our lives.

With my speaking capabilities fully resorted, I had tried to convince him that he should not intervene on my behalf if I decided to seek self-termination once again. But my selfless pleas to be allowed to do the noble thing and destroy myself were met with complete incredulity at best, and horrified fatherly concern at worst. I soon learned that Carlisle had hoped that my miraculous healing would increase my gratefulness for the unlife which had been cruelly thrust upon me. He even wished beyond all else that his estimation of my mental state being negatively influenced by Aria would prove incorrect, so that I would "snap out of" whatever angsty phase I was going through.

But my desire to end my own life was most definitely not a "phase". And this was evidenced to Carlisle quite clearly by my repeated attempts to sneak off and set myself aflame, and my anatomization of passing nomads. Oddly enough, my repeated death-schemes were always curiously foiled at the last possible second—like Carlisle somehow could predict my next move after it was mentally decided. And this was highly frustrating, but at least it convinced Carlisle that my terminal desire was persistent and unyielding.

After he determined this, though, Carlisle boldly announced to the entire coven that my failed suicide attempts were the last piece of evidence he needed to determine that Aria's spell was tampering with our minds. And as a result of this newfound knowledge, Carlisle had decided that the witch needed to be summarily removed from existence in order to release us, and Eleazar's covenmates from her unethical manipulations.

It was shocking, to both Esme and I that Carlisle was so unwaveringly intent on causing the helpful witch's death, since it seemed horribly out-of-character for him to resort to killing—probably his least favorite activity in the entire universe. Especially since he seemed to come to this conclusion so quickly and for what we perceived to be a non-existent cause.

But by having patiently observed our "unbalanced" emotional states and "illogical" behaviors for eight years, and having spoken to Eleazar about the lingering effects of her spells, Carlisle realized that Carmen, Tanya, Irina, Kate, Esme and I would only ever cease to be "manipulated" if all of the influences of Aria's enchantments were removed all at once. He believed—and he was probably right—that none of us would ever stop returning to Aria to reinstate the spell otherwise.

And the only way to completely nullify all of her enchantments for certain was to bring about her demise.

His plan—at least as much of it as he allowed to slip into the readable forefront of his mind—was to meet up with Eleazar as soon as possible. Together they would decide how to best dispose of the witch who they were deluded into believing was ruining our lives, before choosing the most opportune moment to attack: The moment when we were least likely to be able to leap to Aria's defense.

When I revealed his intentions to Esme, she and I approached him with our deep concerns, offering our soundest arguments, most heartbreaking emotional appeals, and we even grew skin-tearingly violent when nothing else seemed to persuade him. But our protective physical attacks and desperate pleas in behalf of the innocent woman made absolutely no positive impression on him. On the contrary it seemed as though the more Esme and I clamored zealously to Aria's defense, the more thoroughly persuaded he became that she had addled our brains, and believed that needed to be stopped before we were driven against our will to inflict any more harm on ourselves than we already had.

Esme, in the blindness rendered by her love to Carlisle, began to wonder if perhaps he was right in his nonsensical assumptions. She stopped protesting his actions for a while, and instead curled up into a disconsolate ball and wept dryly at the notion that she might be forced to consume humans again. Carlisle tried in vain to console her that Eleazar managed a mixed diet at times. But the widely-known infrequency of his success combined with Esme's profound moral terror over the notion of slaughtering human beings only caused her to wail louder.

Seeing her acute distress he quickly switched tactics and attempted to persuade her that he could endeavor to acquire enough bottled human blood from the local hospitals and morgues to prevent human deaths. But all of us knew, with how limited blood supply was in these times, and how suspicious copious disappearances of the substance would be, this would not completely work. Perhaps Carlisle could get away with taking a few bottles that were nearly past their expiration date, every so often, but old blood was extremely hit and miss as far as nutritional value went, and he could hardly managed to inconspicuously obtain enough for all of us.

It simply was not feasible right now.

Perhaps in the future, when blood became more readily available, it might be. But at the moment, without the spell, Esme and I would be inexorably compelled to seek human blood directly from the source, and inevitably kill as a result. We were not controlled enough to sneak into houses at night with syringes and draw out tiny amounts unnoticed from peacefully sleeping mortals. We were predators, sadistic, savage, evil, and most likely damned by nature—if we even had a soul.

Murder was an instinct that ran deep into our bones.

But even deeper than that, it seemed that Esme and I felt an itching compulsion to protect Aria at all costs—driving us with all the strength of primal instinct, as though Aria was the key to our survival—to keep her alive, to keep using the spell, to keep us from killing, lest we be driven to kill ourselves. And so, in response to this unavoidable drive, we rallied the blond sisters and Carmen together with us to righteously defend her.

But on the night that I had discovered Carlisle and Eleazar had determined they were going to attack, they never showed up.

The six of us formed a protective circle around the confidently smiling witch and watched her all week to make sure that they had not simply misinformed us on purpose. But throughout our unwavering vigil, neither Carlisle nor Eleazar ever confronted us.

When we finally reluctantly disbanded in confusion at this sudden change of plans, Carlisle gave the flimsy excuse that Eleazar had convinced him not to harm Aria for his mate's sake. But I suspected that there was more going on here than he was letting on.

And that made me vastly uncomfortable.


	19. Chapter 18: Destiny or Destruction

**AN: If any of you are confused about the dates or what is going on, I have timelines posted on deviantart which explain both the Cullens' and the Volturi's history (according to cannon and my own additions). You can find the link on my profile page. :) There should also be some new story-related videos on my Youtube account. Feel free to check them out. **

**Also, I feel like Meyer's distinctions between which gifts are physical, mental or neither (like Alice's) were rather arbitrary, so I decided to set up the rule that anything to do with emotions or causing actual healing/damage to the body is physical, anything to do with memories, illusions or the mind is obviously mental, and everything else is neither. The only powers this really effects are Kate's (which Meyer said was mental, but I say is obviously physical because it actually shocks you), and Chelsea's (again, Meyer said mental, but as an emotionally manipulative gift, I say it's physical). For those of you worried about Kate being vegetarian with physical powers, she isn't perfect (lots of 'slip ups') and she only really experiences major problems when she over-exerts her powers. Which isn't often. Chelsea, of course, eats humans, so no problem there. ;)**

**Aaaaaand, we're back to Bella, but Rosalie and Emmett's diet switches will be explained, so don't worry. :)**

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen: Destiny or Destruction**

My inquisitive mind was still reeling from all that I had seen and felt through Edward's perspective when suddenly, the flurry of images and feelings pouring into me through the chain of mental powers created by Aro and his offspring evaporated. As my surrounding whirled back into focus, I was especially concerned with that last puzzling revelation that Carlisle had ultimately decided to leave Aria alone, despite the extremely convincing evidence that she was somehow messing with Edward's head. But I quickly realized, since I was becoming myself again, that no memories from Edward were going to answer my questions.

Sensation was gradually returning to my human female body, but since I had spent the better part of this fateful visit subsumed in the experiences of male vampires, my own mortal woman figure felt almost completely alien. My human nose did little to capture the scents permeating the turret room's stale air, which I knew from Aro's memories was likely swarming with all sorts of interesting smells, and my arms felt like limp spaghetti noodles in comparison with Edward's lean, powerful biceps.

I felt numb and disoriented—all of my senses were so weak it took a few moments for me to get my bearings.

As tiny Lucretia lifted her icy little hand out of mine, I blinked my perplexed brown eyes rapidly to readjust to the dim lighting here in the Volturi's underground fortress in modern Volterra, and took a shaky step backwards from the eerily synchronized twins. They were both tilting their heads to the side at precisely the same unnatural angle, watching anxiously in anticipation for my reaction to all that I had seen with their curious ruby eyes. And although I had a fairly good impression that the creepily adorable duo was not considering me as a potential meal, because their's were only eyes in the room which bore no obvious indication of hunger, their fixated, unblinking gaze was still extremely unnerving.

Disturbed by the scrutiny of the tiny vampires, I pried my eyes away from their unsettling stares and I reached out to my displaced mental barrier. Slowly, I coaxed the shimmering red veil in my mind's eye across the room to where I stood, and breathed a sigh of relief as the intangible shield settled reassuringly over my mind, blocking out all potential internal intrusions. As the severe emotional unease of being cognitively exposed vanished, I realized that I was still tottering slightly where I stood—having been rendered mildly dizzy from the recent almost out-of-body-experience—and I slowly raised a trembling hand to my forehead to steady myself.

Once I was sure I wouldn't topple over, I finally attempted to mentally process what I had just recently encountered.

It was all too much to absorb at once. And I really had not been given much time to sort anything out after the first two batches of events transferred into my recollection through Aro's daughters before the third. So I decided to piece out what I had discovered from Edward's, Aro's and Carlisle's memories into discernable, comprehendible chunks and see if that would help me sort out the mess I had just waded through.

First, I understood that Carlisle's and Aro's experiences had irrefutably proved that animal blood was unhealthy, and thus far only human blood could provide the nourishment that vampires needed to remain strong and fertile—that much was obvious. And although this truth was terrifying, since it completely devastated my previous paradigms about vampire lifestyles, the facts in of themselves needed no further examination. What I was going to do in response to these inescapable truths about vampire nature, I did not know. This perturbed me greatly, since I still clung firmly to the desire to become an immortal myself, and simultaneously was extremely sickened by the prospect of causing human demise. But I figured I would come to a satisfactory conclusion once I had sorted everything out.

Secondly, I had learned that there were witches in this world, and Children of the Moon in addition to the vampires and werewolves I was already familiar with, which meant that the supernatural world was probably a lot larger and more complex than I had previously assumed. I knew very little about witches, since the subject had never come up during Carlisle's or Aro's memories, and Edward had refused to analyze Aria any further after she had administered the spell. And I knew even less about the Children of the Moon—understanding only that they bore some superficial resemblance to Jacob's kind and that it was against Volturi law to form alliances with them. But I felt I could say with reasonable certainty that Carlisle was correct in his estimation of Aria's manipulations. Having experienced Edward's chaotically guilty thoughts myself, and knowing from her sadistic thoughts during our first meeting that the witch possessed substantial motivation to harm vampirekind, I saw little possibility for anything else.

Thirdly, I had learned that Edward had tried multiple times to kill himself. And it looked like he was still attempting to antagonize his captors into dealing the fatal blow even now, which meant that Aria was almost definitely still alive and addling his brain, and that Carlisle's bewildering ceasefire was still in effect. This portion of knowledge, while hardly the most troubling thing I had learned today, was the only matter which had been revealed thus far which made absolutely no discernable sense. I felt like something terribly important was missing from the equation—something which would explain why Carlisle had discontinued his attempt on Aria's life at the last second. Something which would explain why Rosalie and Emmett as well as Alice and Jasper who joined up a decade later eventually switched over to 'vegetarianism' sometime before I came into the equation. And something which would explain why Edward at least, and possibly many of the others in both the Cullen and Denali covens were still on the mind-addling spell. Logically, it seemed that everyone except Carlisle should have gone back to drinking human blood in the orthodox manner by now. But that was definitely not the case.

And although I was completely assured in the knowledge that animal blood was an inviable substance for vampires—which I surmised was the primary conclusion Aro wished for me to draw from this influx of memories—I wanted to be sure that I understood every facet of the situation with Aria and the Cullens before I made the unalterable decision to change or die.

Of course, judging by the way Aro and the small remainder of his guard who remained in the room were unconsciously flicking their tongues out of their mouths to catch the viscous venom slipping from their alabaster lips, and the cold, hungry burgundy stares that were all converging on my person, I realized I would have to make my questions quick. Aro, at least, had promised earlier that I would not become the meal, and having lived for a few decades as him myself, I trusted that he would endeavor his hardest to keep his word—since it was strictly against his unique code of ethics to swear oaths he could not keep. But I could not say anything for sure about the others, so I resolutely swallowed the uncomfortable lump that was building in my dry throat, and hastily parted my chapped lips to speak.

"Wait… so… why did Carlisle decide against killing Aria?" I frantically begged Aro for an explanation.

Frighteningly, he did not immediately respond, being thoroughly distracted with staring predatorily at my neck, so I hurriedly added to my inquiry, this time in a voice slightly louder and more insistent. I was hoping to get his attention off of how disturbingly delicious I apparently looked. "The spell is still messing with his head, isn't it?" I demanded, pointing an accusatory finger towards Edward, who fiercely gritted his venom-glossed teeth and limply shook his head in sour disagreement with my assessment.

Realizing all of a sudden that I was speaking to him, Aro abruptly shook himself out of his thirsty stupor, a tiny, jerky motion, and slowly nodded. "Yes. It is," he offered calmly. He gestured towards the dismembered vampire scowling grumpily at us who was kneeling, pathetic and armless against the cool sienna floors.

"Quite profoundly," Aro added with a tiny smirk.

This earned a low guttural growl of protest from Edward, before Demetri kicked him warningly in the thigh to shut him up.

"So then why is Edward still using it? Why didn't Carlisle kill Aria and free him from it?" I asked with bewildered concern, directing the urgent question at Aro, assuming he would know the answer. But although Aro's smile grew creepily ecstatic at the notion that I was upset that the witch had not been killed—evidently greatly pleased that on some level I desired the sadistic witch's death—he made no move to sate my frantic curiosity.

Instead, I was surprised when Alice's high soprano voice suddenly cut through the suffocating silence, especially since she was apparently grinding her teeth with the effort it was taking her to resist her thirst once she inhaled. She refused to look at me directly, though, most likely to avoid being distracted by my tasty appearance and scent.

"It is true that Carlisle _was_ going to kill Aria to make sure that everyone under her power was completely free from it," Alice explained with a voice clipped with thirsty impatience. "All enchantments end when the witch who casted them dies," she tossed in swiftly, almost as an afterthought. "But I intervened the night before he and Eleazar were planning their attack."

"What? Why did you stop him?" I demanded uncomprehendingly. I flickered an incredulous glance between Alice and her surrogate brother who was scowling up at her wrathfully for some unknowable reason—probably in response to something manifested in her private thoughts which I could not see. I failed to understand why Alice of all people would intervene, especially since she had not officially joined the Cullens when this had happened (although I knew she had been a vampire roughly as long as Esme had).

Unless…

"Did you see something in your visions that needed her alive?" I asked in trepidation—it was the only reason I knew of which would make any sense.

Alice offered a tightlipped nod and I wondered at what she might have seen with her gift which had led her to protect the hateful, coercive woman.

"And did you tell Carlisle about this vision?" I pressed gently, curious to know how Alice had managed to convinced the stalwartly determined doctor to stray from his initial course.

But instead of launching into a lengthy explanation, I only received another curt nod from Alice.

I momentarily forget that Alice was avoiding saying anymore than strictly necessary for my own safety—since every word required her to breathe the air which carried the considerable temptation of my scent. "What did you tell him?" I probed, anxious to hear her explanation of the events.

Alice rolled her eyes at my constant prodding and finally decided to speak: "When I went to stop him from killing Aria, I told him that the future was in danger if you never became a vampire. And in order for that to happen, you had to see us as vegetarians first," she explained quickly.

Alice gave me absolutely no time to process her words before she rushed on, determined to get all of her words out before her mouth drowned in accumulating saliva from my unbearably appetizing smell. "Humans dying still upsets you… you would have never even considered the perks of becoming a vampire if the cons seemed that great," she observed matter-of-factly, hanging her pixie-like head in what looked like shame, as though she felt guilty for withholding the truth from me, and yet felt that it was absolutely necessary to do so.

"And if the Cullens drank human blood you probably would have never learned of the existence of vampires in the first place since they could not blend in as easily with humans. So if they were not 'vegetarians' you would not be here toady, learning all of this and being asked to make a choice," she added finally, before her rose-painted lips hardened back into a vacuum-sealed line and her chest stilled completely.

"…But…" I began in protest before I trailed off, contemplatively chewing on my lower lip. _Alice is right,_ I realized with chagrin._ I wouldn't have ever wanted to become a vampire if I had presumed them to all be human-killing monsters. Even now, although I am fairly certain I want to be a vampire, I do not know if I can kill people. Maybe I can tell Aro to get connected with the local blood banks and morgues or something… people are people… _I reassured myself. But disturbingly, even in my own mind, that argument seemed hopelessly weak all of a sudden. _Does it really matter what they are if consuming them is the key to my heart's greatest desire—and possibly a position among the world's most powerful, most coveted coven in the world? _

I shuddered at my own thoughts. How could it be that I was changing my mind—_did I not promise myself that no matter what I saw, that I would not do as Aro had obviously hoped and agree to become a remorseless murderer?_

"Why is that important? I am just a silly human girl," I rebutted, unwilling to believe Alice's nonsensical explanation for standing in the way of Aria's execution. "Wouldn't it be better if I was kept in the dark?"

"No." Aro and Alice both declared in unintentional unison, and all of the other vampires left in the room were gaping at the two of them in shock—_wasn't it Aro's job to protect the vampire secret, not expose it willy-nilly_? their skeptical blackening eyes said. Though, fearing the ancient vampire's wrath, they did not dare voice their dissenting thoughts aloud.

"Your power can be a great benefit to the vampire world," Alice swiftly clarified to allay the dark looks that the remaining crowd of fidgety Volturi guard members were sending her.

Aro nodded to convey his agreement with her assessment and his unspoken expectation that his guard accept this as well. And I watched in awe as an aura of placid acceptance washed over the circle of thirsty vampires surrounding us in response to his subtle but authoritative gesture. My already sky-high appreciation for the man suddenly increased tenfold—his influence over so many ridiculously powerful beings was almost god-like, making me wonder what besides his ancient wisdom and invasive gift might be the secret to his flawless command.

Perhaps it was the nigh-unserverable bonds of trust and solidarity that Chelsea enforced on the guard members which compelled them into such unwavering obedience—or perhaps it was something else. While she had used her gifts to convince many on the edge of amicable acquaintanceship with Aro to join the Volturi, or to convince the innocent in a coven on trial to willingly separate themselves from the guilty so that their lives could be spared, Chelsea's powers (I had learned from Aro's mind) had their limits. Especially since her power dealt with the manipulation of emotional bonds, and therefore was a physical power, meaning that it was taxing on her system to utilize it too often and too intensely.

I was given no further time to ponder what other methods Aro might use besides Chelsea's gift and his own overwhelming charisma to elicit such unwavering obedience, however, as Alice cut my thoughts short with a devastating clarifying statement.

"In fact…" Alice began boldly, raising her head suddenly and boring her fathomless black eyes into mine. "…Your power may be the only way to protect against our extinction, Bella."

"What?" Aro and I both exclaimed in dismayed unison.

"Dear Alice, why did you not inform me of this possibility?" Aro breathed in evident alarm. His features betrayed a conflicting concoction of horror at the prospect of the destruction of his race and personal affront that Alice had not deinged to relay this vital piece of information.

My response was not nearly as elegant as Aro's—instead of articulating an artful question, my jaw merely totally slackened in utter shock and I dumbly asked "Extinction?!"

Alice sighed and began what I felt like was going to be a long explanation, clenching her teeth to distract from her mounting hunger: "You recall what I said I saw as my first vision upon becoming a vampire, right?"

"Yes…" I began hesitantly, failing to see how this was relevant to the coming extinction of the vampire race which Alice purported that I could somehow avert with my powers. "You saw Jasper, and knew that you would marry him someday," I added for good measure, hoping to prod Alice along into further explanation, despite knowing the risks of compelling her to speak. Every time she opened her mouth, assuming that her body was unaffected by the thirst-suppression spell, I was putting my neck on the line merely by standing here in the same room.

"I would become his mate, yes," Alice clarified rather insistently in a startlingly sharp tone. "The distinction may not be important to you, but to vampires mates and marriages are two different things. They usually coincide, but not always," she explained quickly before summarily shutting up. She then swayed her little arms slightly at her sides while rocking on her heels, presumably to divert her attention from her building thirst, which I could only imagine was growing progressively unbearable by the minute.

"Okay, you and Jasper were going to be… _mates, _then," I conceded, surprised that Alice would waste her breath on what I perceived to be such a trivial matter.

"Yes, but that was not all I saw," she continued vaguely.

"What else did you see?"

"I saw many things in that first vision. But most relevantly, I saw this day, with you and I standing before Aro and the Volturi guard,I saw all of the side effects of Carlisle's diet and his coven's methods of living on animal blood, and I saw fragments of an enormous battle between vampires," she related at breakneck speed until Aro suddenly jutted out a halting hand and interjected.

"A battle?" He asked with a quizzically concerned expression. He drifted majestically closer to my petite, spiky-haired friend in a graceful arch that was carefully calculated to keep as much distance as possible from myself while maximizing proximity to Alice. "What sort of battle might you have seen, dearest Alice?" Aro politely requested, his dark maroon eyes glittering with boundless curiosity as he tapped his fingertips anxiously together while impatiently awaiting her response.

"A confrontation in Seattle with an army of newborn vampires," Alice said hurriedly, as though the sentence was one extremely long word instead of multiple. She barely gave me enough time to register why anyone would make an army out of newly transformed vampires (Aro had mentioned that they were stronger than regular vampires) before she rushed on into the next sentence.

"Although, I have no idea what they were created for and there is something else blocking most of my sight—perhaps the werewolves are involved," she added without thinking about the possible misconceptions her words could cause.

I understood exactly what she meant, having noticed that her powers were strangely unable to predict any events which become sufficiently entangled with the decisions of the Quileute shapeshifters. But all the vampires in the room except Aro, Edward and Alice visibly stiffened at the word "werewolves". I guessed that they mistakenly assumed that Alice was referring to the Children of the Moon—as Carlisle had predicted they would—and they reacted with all the anticipated horror and outrage that the foul species which they continually endeavored to exterminate had anything to do with this catastrophic upcoming conflict.

"…I mean the shape-shifters in La Push," she clarified hastily, realizing her mistake, and making rapid crisscrossing "x" motions with her thin arms to encourage everyone in the vicinity to eliminate the possibility from their minds of those monsters' involvement in the events of the future. "They just happen to take the form of wolves."

The crowd looked uncertainly toward Aro who again nodded in assent. "Yes, Edward has shown me the creatures of which you speak, _fascinating_ beings, who can change into enormous wolves at will," he spoke more to the crowd than to Alice, to assure them that what she spoke of was something wholly other than the forbidden object of their fears. "They are formidable, yes…" he conceded reluctantly. "But they do not prey on humans, and their transformation is not uncontrollable, and therefore they deserve none of our ire, so long as they do not provoke us," he explained in an irresistibly soft, feathery voice that must have made angels cry with passionate envy, made me want to happily melt into his arms.

It seemed to have a calming effect on his intended audience.

"They are not fond of vampires, but Carlisle did managed to establish a treaty with them whilst living on animal blood…" Aro added carefully, before he stopped short of finishing his sentence and seemed to consider something important for a moment, idly stroking his chin between his thumb and forefinger. "…if they could perhaps be swayed into an alliance with us…"

"Forget it, Aro." Alice chipped in with a shrill bark of a voice. "The Quileute shapeshifters may decide to grudgingly tolerate animal-drinking vampires, but they would never agree to serve you. They see us as monsters, as their mortal enemies," Alice bit out through angrily gritted teeth, furiously trying to quell Aro's hyperactive acquisitive tendencies.

"Much like witches do, although witches can be persuaded…" Aro mused aloud with a conspiratal smirk, totally unphased by Alice's harsh response. His dark maroon eyes sparkled with delight at the prospect of persuading some, if not all of Sam's pack to serve the Volturi in some fashion or another. I wondered what he would have them do—before it dawned on me that their brute strength and imposing appearances were really only suited to one purpose among the Volturi: they would invariably be relegated to the task of being massive guard dogs.

"I know of your truce with Vittorio," Alice reminded Aro, puzzling me with her reference to a person whom I had no knowledge of. "…But they will not be enticed by promises of immortality, Aro. Most shapeshifters from that tribe choose to be mortal in order to die alongside their loved ones. Plus, they hardly need your help if they wished to live forever anyway."

I frenetically switched my head back and forth between the pair trying to make sense of their suddenly incomprehensible conversation. "Wait… I don't understand…" I called out to signal that Alice and Aro were getting way ahead of me and I wanted to know what the hell they were talking about.

"Jacob and his friends will not age as long as they keep phasing," Alice revealed suddenly, spinning breathtakingly on her stiletto heels to face me as she spoke. Her floral scarf danced around her in beautiful waves, and her loose sweater billow mesmerizingly in the wind she generated from her ballerina-like movements.

"That's part of the perks of being born with vampire-triggered powers," she chirped with a lopsided smile. "As long as he keeps using them, he will never grow old and never die."

My eyes widened at this unexpected factoid—_Jacob would never die, as long as he continued to morph into a wolf occasionally? If he desired it, he could be immortal?_ _Is he aware of this?_ I wondered, baffled by the idea that I might not necessarily outlive him after all if I obtained my wish to become one of the beautiful undead.

"But as soon as he, or Aria or any other person whose powers are triggered in the presence of vampires stop using their gifts for several years, they become mortal again and lose their abilities," Alice explained neutrally, before her cute, quirky smirk contorted into a sharp frown. "For shape-shifters who want immortality, they reach it easily, they can just keep changing shape every so often and they never age. But for witches, they need to use spells on others, powerful ones work best. And since the Volturi would execute them for exposing the supernatural if they openly performed spells on humans, most are somewhat forced into alliances with vampires in order to perform spells strong enough to keep their immortality."

I nodded to convey that I understood her explanation thus far—it made sense that the witches would not be able to sustainably use their powers on humans, since surreptitious enchantments placed on mortals could not be very powerful, or else the humans would notice. But I also realized that since witches harbored a nemesis-like hatred of vampirekind just as Jacob and the pack did, this made things complicated if the witches wanted immortality. They would have to team up with their enemies to obtain it.

"Most witches are female," Alice continued encyclopedically, "…but Vittorio is a rare male witch who has made such an agreement with the Volturi. He lives separately from them, not here in the castle. The Volturi call upon him for all their magical needs to grant him his immortality and in exchange he agrees to never cast any malignant spells on the guard."

Aro seemed a little taken off guard that Alice knew all of this, and the cloaked figures surrounding us shuffled in fearful uncertainty away from her as they began to be wary of the uncomfortable expanse of her knowledge about them. But I was not totally surprised—evidently she had been monitoring the Volturi's decisions for a while with her powers, which could teach her all sorts of interesting information if she watched long enough. Why she would focus her attention on them for a substantial duration of time to know so much about them, I wasn't sure, but it wasn't _too_ strange for her to want to be privy to the inner workings of the group of forty-or-so vampires who basically ruled the earth. Information like that could always be handy…

"Vittorio's relationship with the Volturi works out rather symbiotically," Alice added casually, with an offhand toss of her hand, before her bow-shaped lips tightened once again, and she balled her hands into worrisome little fists.

"Okay… But if Aria wants immortality… why is she hurting the vampires who she is casting spells on?" I asked, still not quite understanding the apparently parasitic choices she was making when a symbiotic relationship was what most magicians of her kind evidently strived for. "Isn't that detrimental to her cause?"

"Edward is the only one thus far who has been driven to suicide," Alice pointed out with an instructively pointing finger in her surrogate brother's direction. "I think that her mind-tampering spell is non-specific enough to tap into whatever is the individual vampire's most convincing reason to stay away from human blood, and lay on the pressure to avoid it at all costs," she theorized.

Aro's eyes widened in intrigue at her suitably logical suggestion.

Alice went on."Esme was worried about how Carlisle would perceive her as a human-drinker and emotionally disturbed by killing, and so Aria tapped into that and warped it to suit her ends. Carmen was naturally compassionate towards all people and so Aria tapped into that and used it to her advantage. Kate, Tanya and Irina hate the Volturi, so Aria tapped into that and twisted it into a hate for all human-drinkers. Eleazar had no real compelling reason to stay with the diet, so the spell floundered, and was ultimately not strong enough to keep him off of human blood. Edward, was not emotionally disturbed by drinking human blood, nor hating of human-drinkers, nor particularly fearful of anyone else's perceptions of him, so he might have ended up like Eleazar as well, except that he had a weakness where Eleazar did not."

"What weakness?" I asked, insatiably curious to know what made Edward specifically vulnerable whereas Eleazar was not.

"Eleazar, like Carlisle, is a religious vampire—" Alice began with thirstily twitching fingers.

"They are not all that rare, actually." Aro interjected with a small smile, which was bewilderingly pointedly directed towards me. _Was Aro going to try to convert me to his spiritual beliefs as well as his perspectives on drinking human blood? _I pondered, taken aback somewhat by the notion of seriously discussing the relatively foreign topic of my salvation with the ancient vampire whose own beliefs on the matter, given his multiplicity of religious experiences through his gift, were considerably jumbled and complex.

"…But he had long ago reconciled his faith with his food," Alice continued impassively, as though no interruption had occurred. "…in such a steadfast manner that Aria's spell couldn't convincingly plant doubt in his mind about it. Edward, on the other hand, had uncertain beliefs, and that uncertainty allowed room for Aria's manipulations to twist that into something way-out-of-proportion and skew it to whatever would work best to keep him off human blood."

I nodded to indicate that I understood what had been said thus far before launching my next inquiry. "But then why was he driven to suicide? If he dies, then Aria can no longer cast any spells on him."

"I believe that the spell intensifies the guilt and desire to not kill proportionately to every slip up and urge for human blood," Alice offered logically, her lithe pink tongue flicking over her lips to catch the glistening venom starting to drip there. "Edward struggled with his thirst perhaps the most profoundly out of all of them. And because he originally had no qualms over killing humans for their blood, the strength of guilt required to keep him away from human blood ended up being too powerful to keep him wanting to live."

"I guess that makes sense…" I acquiesced hesitantly. "But you never did explain what you meant by extinction… do you really think that the entire vampire race is at stake if I do not join the Volturi?" I asked dubiously. I was incredulous and terrified that Alice seemed to genuinely believe that my transformation into a vampire was vital in order to preserve the future of an entire species—especially one as unbeatable and resilient as vampires.

"There is still a slim possibility that some of us survive the attack without you…" Alice admitted thoughtfully, poking her cheek with her index finger as she stared absently off into space. Her glossy black eyes waxed increasingly vacant, as though she was no longer looking at anything in this dimension, but rather revisiting all the possible futures related to this topic in her mind. Abruptly, Alice blinked—a jarring action coming from someone who hadn't blinked in the past five minutes at least—and resumed speaking: "But with your shielding power on our side, we can avoid a lot of deaths, and have a much higher chance at avoiding the exposure of the supernatural world," she explained with a pained-looking, but ultimately cheery smile—she was making a valiant effort to not eat me, which I felt was extremely commendable, given the circumstances.

"Exposure—why would a battle expose vampires?" I questioned disbelievingly, searching out any logical excuse to throw disreputability on Alice's outlandish theory that I was some kind of "chosen savior" for the vampire race. "I mean, the Volturi have fought lots of battles before…" I contributed pathetically, before my passionately outstretched arms slumped weakly in defeat—no matter what I said, Alice always knew best.

"Not in the middle of a crowded urban center, which is where my predictions place it," Alice countered succinctly. "And if the battle gets dire, survival, not secrecy, will be the first thing on our minds."

I nodded gravely in understanding—vampires might put on a pretense of civilization when all was well, but it had become especially clear in this last hour that they were fundamentally driven by overwhelmingly potent instincts, and would react similarly to any other animal when they were significantly provoked. And since Alice had mentioned, and I had seen through Aro's eyes that some of the Volturi had rather formidable gifts which could cause quite a scene if utilized in a crowded city street, I understood that the threat of exposure was very real if they were to face off against a newborn army in Seattle.

"So then humans will discover that vampires exist…" I breathed in a terror-struck whisper.

Alice responded with a solemn nod.

"Then what… I still don't understand how that leads to the extinction part," I expressed with evident confusion contorting my unremarkable features into puzzled squiggles. "What can humans possibly do against vampires? Bullets and knives are useless."

"You know that the only way we can die is if we're burnt to ash right?" Alice asked as though she was asking something thoroughly mundane, such as whether I knew who the current president of the United States was, instead of such a morbid inquiry. I responded to her question by nodding quickly and shuddering heavily, recalling the horrifying feeling of flames licking at my/Edward's skin.

"And you are most certainly aware that humans have modern weapons which can create big fires, right?" She prodded further, visibly swallowing the sizeable buildup of venom that had filled her mouth during this conversation.

She then sent a fleeting, desperate glance towards Aro in a silent plea to find a way to hurry this up so that she could be permitted to eat before I unwittingly became the meal. Aro's eyes widened minutely in empathetic understanding, but he otherwise remained utterly unmoved by her plight, determined to wait until I was finished satisfying my curiosity before allowing anyone remaining in this room to feed. It upset me that her thirst had progressed to what I had learned to be the point of nigh-intolerable starvation. But I was also stubbornly resolved to understand what Alice believed it was my destiny to prevent.

"Flamethrowers?" I asked incredulously, trying to imagine hordes of humans waving those pitiful wands of fire at an unstoppable force of charging, red-eyed vampires arrayed in velvety black cloaks. I was unable to picture the mortals as being very successful in this venture.

Alice rolled her eyes in exasperation and resolutely shook her head. "I was thinking more along the lines of explosives, like nuclear bombs," She said, and I was tempted to laugh at her clichéd allusion to such drastic measures, until I realized that she had said it with the utmost seriousness. "And those could _definitely _destroy us if we were hit head on," she explained with a somber expression. A hasty glance over in Aro's direction confirmed that he too, was certain that he would be unable to survive a direct encounter with a nuclear explosion.

"If humanity were to learn of our existence, they would make their best attempts to wipe all of us off the face of the earth," Alice declared forebodingly.

"…But that's so extreme!" I protested vehemently. "Would they really launch nuclear missiles against their own nation—I mean, tons of innocent people would die!" I practically shrieked, simultaneously horrified by the very-real prospect of such widespread massacre, and deeply skeptical that the human race was really fundamentally idiotic enough to cause such immense devastation to their own people.

"That did not stop them in Japan," Alice reminded me with a distrustful wagging of her finger. "And those were their fellow humans caught up in a petty military conflict. Think of how callous they will be toward our destruction. Any collateral damage experienced on the way to our extinction will be completely justified in their eyes," she replied definitively. "People that are somewhat culturally distant are simply numbers to them—statistics. We are less than that. We are monsters. They will show us no mercy."

I stood back in horror.

Alice was right—the fear of the unknown, and the inability to accept that we were not the highest link in the food chain would drive humanity insane. Certainly the governments of the world might initially be reluctant to fight in that manner, but given no other options, and increasing public terror, they would be forced to act, in a devastatingly destructive way.

I was pretty sure I looked like I was about to faint, but glancing to my right I noticed that Aro and the vampires standing several feet behind him had the same petrified expression.

"And how might Isabella prevent this?" Aro inquired with an expression brimming with a barely suppressed, frenetic eagerness.

He entreated Alice for her hand by fluidly outstretching his own for her to take so that he might witness her vision of my prevention of vampire extinction himself. As Aro's hand inched anxiously closer, Alice heartily slapped it away with her gloved fingers and a look of astonishment and extreme hurt flashed across his aristocratic features at her violent rejection. The circle of vampires around us released an audible gasp and Aro's twin daughters flanking him on both sides hissed furiously at the disrespectful action against their father, but Aro tenderly gestured forbiddingly toward them and his guard to indicate that Alice was not to be attacked.

"Few have gifts that are as potent and controllable as Bella's while they are yet human," Alice observed placidly, ignoring the disapproving glares fixated on her person from all directions which were making their best attempts to drill thousands of tiny holes into her skull. "Jane could cause a brief sharp sting in her victims, and Alec could make people feel a little numb, and Vera could heal small bruises or cuts, but most of this was done involuntarily in the heat of the moment," she offered, simultaneously impressing and frightening Aro with her knowledge of his guard members prior to their transformations, which was information that was not widely known. Her awareness etched deep suspicion into heavenly contours of his face.

"Her gift is constantly protecting her mind without her even being aware of it," Alice proceeded to say, inclining her head slightly in my direction as she expounded on my gift's usefulness in her melodious high soprano voice. "…and it can lash out in defense too, which it did to Carlisle when he tried to make her forget us. She can also control it so well already," she sang with a happy smile. "When she becomes a vampire, her shielding abilities will only increase, and that will gives us the protected advantage that we need in the battle to come so that we do not fight conspicuously and betray ourselves," Alice announced in an almost worshipful tone, which struck an uncomfortable chord with me—it seemed fundamentally _wrong_ somehow for someone who possessed a talent as miraculous and coveted as hers to express such reverential awe for my powers, which seemed pitiful by comparison.

"Ah, I see," Aro sighed in comprehension and relief, before he rapidly spun across the stone floor in my direction.

His expertly tailored robes and long black cape swirled darkly around him, and a wide, avid grin pulled apart his thin lips as he drew painfully close to me. "I am thrilled by what we might see when you become one of us," he purred softly, ghosting the back of his frigid knuckles over my cheek, and bathing my face and neck in his cool, intoxicating breath.

Suddenly his eyes widened in an unreadable expression and he flitted backwards to a safe distance. My skin tingled hotly from the fleeting contact, and I was left breathless, flustered and desperately wanting more of his icy, smooth skin brushing against mine—preferably every inch of him flush with every inch of me. I was glad I was assured that Aro had been unable to read my mind our brief connection, since my mental barrier was firmly in place. His utterly baffled facial expression and spasmodically flexing fingers which seemed to be itching to touch me again, also confirmed that there had been no breach of privacy, which I supposed was a shocking first for him.

After a few moments of awkward silence as Aro struggled to reign in the desire to seize my skin again, he directed his pericing gaze back to Alice with a look of unadulterated fascination and once again extended his hand cordially in invitation. "May I see this vision you speak of, Alice?" he asked with impeccable politeness, completely undeterred by her previous rejection.

Alice firmly shook her head, and Aro looked personally affronted again—I guessed that not many people had dared to refuse him. Especially not twice. Regardless, he made no move to punish her for what the rest of the guard clearly perceived to be unforgiveable insubordination, if their maliciously burning stares were any indication.

"Patience, Aro," Alice soothed in low, harmonious tones, hoping to ease the dramatically agonized expression off of his face. "Not until Bella makes her choice," she stipulated while crossing her arms forbiddingly. "She needs to decide of her own free will what she is going to do in light of this knowledge. We cannot afford to have you mess this up trying to force her hand," Alice relayed with a firmness that suggested that Aro would attempt exactly that if he were to see Alice's visions for himself before I had made my all-important decision.

Aro reluctantly nodded in understanding and sailed effortlessly backwards a few steps away from her, while I blinked in confusion a few times—there was still so much that I hadn't completely grasped.

"So… I am a key part in protecting the vampire world from destruction?" I asked.

I was extremely doubtful my abilities were awesome enough to become the glorious savior she clearly imagined I would eventually develop into. And I was still struggling to wrap my mind around the concept that Alice had clearly manipulated all of my interactions with vampirekind up until this point with the intention of persuading me to choose immortality for the greater good.

"Why? What can I possibly do to help?" I implored in frustration—_what on earth did Alice think I was going to do? It wasn't like my mental shield could repel something as devastatingly physical as nuclear bombs._ "That sounds so… so _important_. I cannot do anything like that, can I?"

"Of course you can, Bella. You're much more special than you realize," Alice supplied with a friendly "thumbs up" and an unintentionally feral-looking smile, as her pearly white teeth were glittering with thick droplets of venom. "Something Edward never appreciated," she added in a distasteful grumble, to which Edward responded by scowling even deeper than before, but otherwise made no comment.

"I look forward to us being sisters in this coven," she announced cryptically, gesturing to the room around us, which rendered me hopelessly confused.

Until I suddenly realized that she meant she hoped that we would both eventually join the ranks of those surrounding us—or in other words that we would eventually become full-fledged members of the Volturi.

"Wait… _you're _planning on joining the Volturi?" I couldn't believe it—this was just too much. I mean, logically they could definitely benefit from her powers, but it was difficult for me to imagine the free-spirited, friendly girl I had come to cherish as a surrogate sister participating in the ruling coven's more gruesome activities. Reconciling the idea of her drinking human blood directly from the source had been emotionally traumatizing enough. But to envision the ballerina pixie ruthlessly dismembering and lighting aflame countless criminal vampires, and hedonistically partaking of the Volturi's monthly feasts which occurred in this very room made me feel violently sick.

"Yes. I have always planned on joining the Volturi." Alice announced unexpectedly.

Aro's face suddenly lit up brighter than I thought possible with unbridled fanboyish glee, as he clapped his hands together in unrestrained excitement. Alice sent him a wary, warning glance, telling him to control his boundless enthusiasm before directing her obsidian gaze back towards me. "Don't look at me like that, Bella. They need me as much as they need you," she declared firmly in response to my mortified expression before explaining her supposedly altruistic motives.

"Technological communication in the human world is getting incredibly advanced," she said gravely as she began to saunter menacingly back and forth, her high-heeled boots clacking imperiously against the hard stone floor. "Our secret could go from completely protected to worldwide knowledge in the few minutes it takes to upload and watch a YouTube video. Simply killing all the witnesses will not work anymore," she explained with icy ferocity shining in her fathomless black eyes. "We will need to strike _before _the exposure happens, not after, and I..." she emphatically splayed a leather gloved hand over her chest, "...am the only one with powers that allow us to do that."

I swallowed thickly and gave a hesitant nod. Once again, Alice was right. Even Carlisle's power would be relatively useless if nearly everyone on the planet learned of the truth within mere minutes. The damage done would be utterly irreversible, and inevitably devastating to the vampire race, if Alice's predictions of panic-induced nuclear fallout were anything to go off.

Clearly she believed it was her obligation to prevent a calamity of this scale from happening, but her explanation still failed to account for one thing: if the battle in Seattle was a part of her very first premonition... "Then why didn't you join the Volturi from the start?" I asked in bewilderment. "Why waste your time with the Cullen's and go to all these lengths to pretend to care about human life when you obviously don't?" I bit out with a little more petulance and anger than I had originally intended, probably because I felt horribly betrayed—first by Edward for using the fact that Carlisle couldn't alter my memories to start a false romance with me I order to kill himself, second by Carlisle for hiding his powers from me, which I felt I should have been made aware of, even if it drove me insane, and now by Alice, for having used everyone in her scheme to convince me to join the Volturi for the greater good.

Alice's terrifyingly admiring smile twisted into a disappointed pout. "We need you too, Bella," she insisted with a minute shake of one of her tiny white fists for emphasis. "All of this—letting Aria live, despite her manipulations, agreeing to live on a carefully balanced mixture of animal and bottled blood while Jasper and I stayed with the Cullens to keep our eyes yellowish for over fifty years, despite the difficulties with our health and gag-reflexes, convincing Carlisle to replace Rose and Emmett's memories so that they believed all vampires experienced the side effects of animal blood so that they would agree to be put on the spell and no longer drink human blood... All of that was in order to create this perfect scenario where you would be kept from the truth until you were ready to hear it."

"...Until you already wanted to be a vampire bad enough that what you learned today would not stop you," Alice announced with a resolute tone of finality.

She flickered another desperately thirsty gaze at Aro in a silent plea to remedy her hunger as soon as possible. Aro, however, didn't seem to notice this time, as his deep burgundy eyes were wholly fixated on me, eagerly awaiting my reaction to her last audacious statement.

_Would the knowledge I had acquired today stop me?_ I wondered. _If I wanted to be a vampire, I would probably be convinced to join the Volturi as well to help in whatever fashion Alice believed that I could. And as a member of the Volturi, it was highly unlikely that I could find a sustainable method of obtaining human blood without killing or being too conspicuous. _Certainly blood banks and blood supply had improved greatly since the 1940s, when even Carlisle and Eleazar could only occasionally take nearly expired blood without being noticed. But although they could probably switch entirely to diets of bagged blood now, I was not going to be allotted the same resources as them if I were to join the Volturi, I would almost certainly end up killing people for their blood—_but was I really okay with that? Was my desire to gain eternal youth, ethereal beauty, unimaginable strength and apparently world-saving powers strong enough to override my instinctual revulsion with human demise? _I considered, horrified with myself for even thinking it.

"Carlisle altered Rosalie and Emmett's memories?" I asked, partly because I genuinely desired to know, and partly to distract from my distressing inner thoughts.

"At my command, yes," Alice affirmed. "He was extremely reluctant to do so. But with the threat that if he did not help them switch diets that he would be inadvertently responsible for our race's extinction because you would never join us, he complied rather quickly," she explained between her teeth before suddenly going eerily still and ceasing to breathe again.

"So you're the reason that Rosalie does not know that she can have children if she drinks human blood..." I reasoned aloud and Alice nodded once succinctly.

"And you are the reason Jasper attacked me too, right?" I questioned a bit tersely as the realization of what she must have knowingly subjected him to suddenly dawned on me. "His powers are physical, aren't they?—and you _knew_ that putting him on a diet of animal blood, even only partially, would take an enormous toll on his system," I added venomously—because Alice had seen all of the side effects of animal blood in her first vision, and thus she did not have Carlisle's excuse that he did not know how much his test subjects would suffer. She knew that living on animal blood would be especially agonizing for someone like him, and yet he had cruelly endured the pain anyway.

"How could you torture him like that?" I practically screamed in compassionate rage over such heartless cruelty.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught Aro's smile widening, which perplexed me until I suddenly understood why, in light of what I had just said. I had just admitted anger towards the idea that Alice had forced him to consume animal blood rather than kill humans for their blood, and by doing so, I had unwittingly divulged that I _wanted _Jasper to consume potentially even innocent people for his own health, (I had not specified that they needed to be criminals). It shocked me terribly that it seemed so natural now to suggest such a muderous remedy for his thirst, but I grudgingly was beginning to acknowledge that I could no long see animal-drinking and human-drinking in the same terms as before. Human death most certainly still disturbed me, but knowing that it was the only feasible way to stay healthy, maybe it wasn't so b—

Alice thankfully cut off my thoughts. "It is true that his physical powers made adiet of animal blood more difficult for him. But as an empath, Jasper struggles with feeling the emotions of his victims," she explained with a heavy heart and sorrowful expression.

Instantly all of my malicious feelings towards her melted away as I struggled to comprehend how truly ghastly it would be to feel his prey's fear every time he hunted. "He volunteered to try a mixed diet to try and alleviate the pain of feeling the crushing terror every time he fed," Alice explained. "My love for him is genuine—I did not force him, and I hope that he can eventually overcome this obstacle and also join this coven."

Mine and Aro's eyes enlarged at this revelation—mine in shock, and Aro's in wonderment.

"…But you don't love the others?" I responded quizzically, with a slight tilt of my head in confusion. That seemed to be Alice's suggestion at least.

Alice looked hurt and swiftly protested my assessment. "Jasper did not necessarily have to be a part of the Cullen family for you to be swayed, in fact, he was a liability to convincing you that we were sustainable," she declared in hasty justification. "...But the others… you have to understand that what I have seen—the horrible destruction of not only our entire race, but of countless innocent lives of all species. The horrific carnage I saw... buildings and bodies burning in every direction..." she trailed off, choking on her words as she recalled the grisly scenes in her mind. "I had to do whatever was necessary to prevent that," Alice explained desperately, her petite hands shaking violently with the force of her sheer terror and her eyes wider with unmasked fear than I had ever seen. Clearly, whatever mass-destruction she had witnessed in her vision had scared the hell out of her, and she saw it completely necessary to avoid it at all costs, no matter how underhanded and self-serving her actions might appear.

I think I was beginning to understand—her reaction to this vision certainly scared the hell out of _me_.

"I promised Carlisle that as soon as you became one of us, that he could restore Rosalie's and Emmett's memories and kill Aria," Alice offered placatingly, as though that somehow made up for the decades of deception. "But your contribution to the upcoming battle is vital. With your shield protecting us from death and injury, the whole guard can fight safely, and rationally against the newborns without exposing our existence. Please, Bella, we need you," she begged me, clasping her hands together in a trembling, prayer-like supplication. She even bent to one knee in a startling gesture of humility as she gaze expectantly into my wide brown eyes with horrified longing.

I was simultaneously mortified and honored as Aro rapidly copied Alice's pleading position, and his entire guard (what was left of them, at least) frantically scrambled to lower themselves even closer to the floor so as to not appear to think themselves higher than their master. I stood, dumbfounded in the center of a room full of bowing vampires who could easily tear me to ribbons, completely at a loss for what to say and do. Even though the knowledge that I could protect them was so new and I could tell that many of the cloaked figures were highly skeptical about Alice's lofty claims, these men and women were terrified out of their wits at the possibility of extinction and begging me to help them prevent it.

And as I looked over the room full of immortal, genuflecting figures, I was suddenly struck with a terrible epiphany.

"I don't really have a choice, do I?"


	20. Chapter 19: The Choice

**AN: Since several of you have asked about who Bella is going to be paired with in this story, I thought I would make it clear that I am not planning on pairing her with anyone. This story was never intended as a romance, and I apologize if I confused you with all the one-sided chemistry between Aro and Bella. He's just really hot and she notices. That's it. **

**I am aiming for 25 chapters in this story, and I am planning on writing a sequel which picks up after this one leaves off. Neither this story, nor the sequel will have Bella enter a romantic relationship with Aro. Once again, I am sorry if this disappoints you, but it just doesn't seem right to me to breach his happy marriage. Plus, vampire romance is extremely intense, and I think Bella is more worried about other things right now-like preventing the exposure of the supernatural world.**

**Don't get me wrong, I am a total sucker for reciprocated AroxBella stories, (my OTP) that just doesn't work here in my opinion. :)**

**Also, sorry for the late update, Thanksgiving happened, which was great, but took me away from my computer for a while and school has been pretty crazy as we're gearing up for finals here. Finals is the week after next, so chapter 20 might be somewhat late as well, but it will come, I promise. **

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen: The Choice**

The pale shafts of sunlight floating into the wide turret room had dimmed a few shades since our initial arrival, a product of the fact that our visitation and the resulting "short delay" of the Volturi coven's meal had been drawn out at least a half hour if not more. It unnerved me profoundly that Aro's guard, even as they knelt imploringly before me, were waxing increasingly impatient with the waiting, and that they twitched and shuddered irritably at every thump of my thunderous heartbeat. And I found my tongue drying as both the cloak-shrouded and uncloaked figures positioned flush with the circular walls of the room flickered their wild burgundy eyes every so often in my direction, and towards the paneled wooden entrance door, through which Heidi had briefly appeared with their dinner, clearly petitioning the lifeless material to somehow summon her back so that they could at last feed.

A lump passed through my throat as I noticed that some of them were openly drooling, not making any visible effort to stem the flow of viscous venom which was dripping incessantly off their blunt teeth. It cascaded in wiry streams over their alabaster chins, and littered the dark reds and blacks of their clothing with damp spots. A few tongues darted out briefly to lick away the gooey mess; splotches of pink flashing against the shadowy mass of kneeling vampires. But many did not appear to care in the slightest that their chins, necks and parts of their clothes were rapidly becoming soaked in the substance. Their unblinking stares at my neck and other portions of exposed skin confirmed that they were almost utterly lost to their instincts—and thus trivial things like sticky faces and shirts held no meaning whatsoever.

It was painfully obvious based on their perturbingly animalistic behavior that we needed to wrap up this conversation now—but I was surprised to discover that, for the moment, I no longer had any pressing questions. Certainly there were still a few minor details that I was absurdly curious about, as it was an irrevocable part of my nature to be insatiably inquisitive. But I was fairly confident that I had learned everything I needed to know before the issue at hand could be resolved.

_Aro should probably transform me now, and leave me in a side room to scream while he lets himself and the guard finally get their meal, _I thought. _I mean, it doesn't look like I really have any other options—either I am going to join them of my free will, or Alice is going to find some way to force me into it, so I might as well accept my fate now, _I reasoned, resignedly.

"I don't really have a choice do I?" The words left my lips as a distasteful, sorrowful plea, instead of the statement of defeated acquiescence I had been aiming for. The raw emotion burgeoning in my tone betrayed the magnitude of unfairness I felt at being unknowingly led along on Alice's carefully placed leash and expected to obediently "roll-over" when the time came. Although I understood her reasoning for lying to me was sound—I would have rejected vampirism from the outset if I had understood in those first months what I did now, and would have rather hurtled myself into an erupting volcano than agreed to be transformed—it still stung to know that my best friend had meticulously concealed the darker truths from me like I was a sheltered child, rather than trusted me like an adult with the information to make an informed decision from the very beginning.

Especially when she was the only Cullen that had ever appeared to treat me like my actual age.

As my words sounded in her pale, crystalline ears, Alice's pleading expression warped into one of panic and confusion—clearly this was not the reaction from me that she was hoping for. But just when she was about to try to say something to direct me back onto the path toward willing ascension into immortality, rather than compulsory acceptance, Aro quickly rose to his feet, placed a single finger against his own lips and breathed a gentle "Shhh," in her direction.

He then swept gracefully to my side with a dizzying flourish of his cape. As his proximity began to be unbearable, knowing that he was happily married to another, and likely romantically forever out of my reach, his dark, glassy eyes quickly searched mine for approval to touch me. I expressed this with a clipped nod and a furiously ashamed blush, knowing that my thoughts were perfectly safe with my barrier in place, and after obtaining my permission, Aro tenderly reached out and clasped my hands gently in his.

I figured it was meant to be a reassuring gesture—and it was, perhaps too much so, since it took all of my willpower for me to not collapse in utter relaxation into his lean, powerful arms. But he seemed to forget the purpose behind instigating the contact of our skin for a moment as he was once again taken off-guard by the lack of memories pouring suffusing his being, and his luscious, painfully kissable-looking lips parted ever so slightly in awe. After a moment of awkward silence, where I nervously chewed on my traitorous lower lip to remind it that it was allowed nowhere near the forbidden vicinity of Aro's delicious mouth, Aro seemed to remember his original intentions. A small, genial smile graced his angelic features before he began to lull me with the soothing, melodious tones of his godly voice.

"Not a single member of my guard is forced to be here," he spoke softly, switching his hungry eyes back and forth towards his gradually rising subordinates briefly before settling them back on mine with a piercing, stomach-fluttering intensity. "And despite Alice's allegations of calamity if you do not…" he nearly whispered into my neck, making me shudder, and Edward hiss his violent disapproval of our closeness. "I will not make you the first," Aro promised with the uttermost sincerity before abruptly drifting a step backward, still holding my hand tightly in his icy grasp, but tugging my arm gently with it so that it was outstretched between us.

"You have three options, dearest Isabella," he explained, unable to prevent a tiny smirk from pulling at the corner of his mouth, nor to stop his eyes from crinkling slightly in the hopes that I would make what he deemed to be the appropriate decision. "You may choose to become a vampire and join us," he said with an eerily wide grin, with all his venom-glossed teeth in terrifyingly plain view to convey his extreme excitement with this prospect. "…Become a vampire and leave us," he added with a slightly less enthusiastic look crossing over his flawless complexion. "Or… die…" he contributed finally with deep reluctance, suddenly, jarringly releasing my hand, which felt bewilderingly hot without his glacial touch.

Aro's lips hardened into a displeased line and he somberly averted his gaze for a moment as he turned over the upsetting notion of my death—indirectly at least, by his hands—before he snapped out of his pessimistic musings and his face brightened with exuberant optimism.

"Should you chose the latter, I will try my best to talk you out of it, of course," he related politely, tapping his fingertips together as if he was concocting a scheme which would do exactly that, if I were to ask for such a violent end. "It would be such a pity to see your power go to waste…" he lamented. He curled his hands slowly into loose fists of mock-pain, before drawing them into his chest and ducking his head in grievous sorrow.

"But ultimately, I will respect your decision."

Alice gritted her teeth uncomfortably at Aro's declaration and for a few nearly imperceptible moments, it looked like she wanted to voice hearty opposition against his dangerous promises, before she seemed to change her mind at the last second and instead schooled her face into an impassive mask. Clearly she was of the opinion, that I should not be given the option to die—but she should not have worried. Death had never really been in the cards—I had meant, and still meant what I had told Alice on the plane, and Edward in the hospital, and at prom and countless other times: I wanted to become a vampire. Alice's mistrust in me had weakened this desire minorly. But Aro's faith in me, despite probably being the most aware of the true threat that humankind posed to vampires, and the most cognizant of the fact that his guard could easily expose their kind in a large-scale vampire-against-vampire battle, conversely had significantly boosted my resolve.

The man who potentially held the fate of all vampirekind in his hands trusted me, a spontaneous, eighteen-year-old girl he had only very recently met in person, and knew very little about, since neither he nor Edward could read my thoughts, to make the right decision.

Could I really choose to let him down?

"Bella… you have to choose to die!" Edward unexpectedly shouted. His vehement declaration sliced acidly through the tense, musty air, and his severed limbs flopped with even more intensity than usual in Demetri and Felix's tenacious arms. "It's the only way that—"

"Shut up, piss-eyes!" Felix bellowed.

He then motioned with an irate inclination of his head to another hulking vampire like himself, though of a slightly darker complexion. This other vampire immediately darted over to where Edward knelt against the cool turret stone, before seizing his head ferociously by the ears. The huge vampire's dusty, bloodless hands suddenly twisted Edward's head violently backward, cracking the diamond-like skin of his neck, and I was perhaps even more startled by the fact that this foreign, nameless guard member had stopped halfway through the process of tearing my ex-boyfriend's head off, than if he had finished the ghastly deed.

"No!" I screamed in horrified protest as the enormous man stormed back to his original position, leaving Edward's head hanging unnaturally backwards like a morbid door-hinge, tethered to the rest of his body with only by a small chunk of flesh. "He isn't himself, he's being controlled!" I reminded them in a piercing tone of distress.

Aro's hand comfortingly rested on my trembling shoulder and he shushed me tenderly, as he had with Alice, which immediately killed all the passionate outcries that had been bubbling in my dry mouth.

As the chill from his hands permeated the thin fabric of my nondescript blouse and he leant forward, his lips drawing back over his glistening teeth, for a split second I thought I was going to become the meal. Until I realized that those lips were moving in a manner much more characteristic of speech than biting, and my ears slowly began to process his words.

"I know, Isabella," Aro acknowledged with a rueful shake of his head. "Which is why I do not want you to listen to him. He can still hear and see us," he revealed, directing an outstretched palm towards the Edward's hallway ripped-off head. "…But he cannot speak now that his windpipe is severed."

I nodded grimly.

"Since you so evidently desire it, we will attempt to reason with him when we are done here," Aro declared amicably, which had Demetri and Felix casting each other disappointed looks—as they had hoping to finish dismembering and burning the vexing vampire themselves. "But first I want you to make your decision, unimpeded by his protests," Aro encouraged, gliding even further backwards. He reached out with both robe-clad arms in invitation as he sailed to a safer distance near where Alice inflexibly stood, eager for me to present the room with my crucial choice. And he even dipped his head in the tiniest of motions to demonstrate his respect for my autonomy and complete willingness to comply with whatever resolution I made.

I swallowed numbly and nodded again—I didn't like that Edward was so brutally torn apart when I now knew that his true self, however deep it was buried beneath the oppressive layers of Aria's influence, likely did not desire his own death in the slightest. But I supposed I would have to tolerate his state of morbid disarray for now. There were much more important things to consider: like the fact that Aro had left the fate of his whole world, in my clumsy hands.

"So what is your choice, dear Isabella?"

I chewed my lower lip with a vengeance as I mulled over my options, and twiddled my thumbs anxiously in front of my stomach as the consequences of each course of action flashed paralyzingly before my wide brown eyes. Clearly, if Alice's visions were going to come true (which was still impossible to say for sure, given how malleable the future apparently was, but was _extremely_ likely, given her track record), then the entire vampire race was completely depending on me to assist them in the impeding confrontation. And it wasn't like I could just selfishly say "no" and watch my whole world burn from above—that just wouldn't be right.

But on the other hand, if I were to become a vampire and join the Volturi, people would die to feed me—I was certain of it. I knew that it was technically possible for human blood to be drawn out of the veins and into a thirsty vampire mouth without killing, through various methods—bagged blood, morgue blood, blood taken in syringes surreptitiously in the night, etc. But given my inexpert skills, the savage lack of control I would have as a newborn, and the knife-slashed-across-human-flesh urging of Aro, I was fairly well assured that at least my first meal, (and probably all that followed, if Aro got his way), would probably bring about someone's demise.

Perhaps if I found killing humans to be completely intolerable to my conscience as Carlisle had, then I would have the strength to seek out other methods to obtain human blood after my first feeding. But having already felt the incredible pain of newborn thirst through his memories, and having already decided that my resolve was not sufficiently firm enough to resist the murderous instincts which accompanied it, I knew that was unlikely to be the case. Mortal death to my immortal self would probably vex me more than it had troubled Edward initially, but I harbored no delusions that my aversion to it in light of such delicious temptation would be as profound as the Cullen patriarch's.

And so, if I was transformed into a vampire, I would inevitably end up becoming the virtually remorseless killer I had sworn to never become.

I shivered heartily as I realized that, although the prospect of sinking my teeth into a writhing and screaming human being and gleefully draining away all their life totally nauseated me at the moment, all witnesses thus far attested to the fact that the experience would be utterly orgasmic as a vampire. Every memory I had seen today reinforced Edward's offhand declaration that drinking human blood directly from the source was an activity which elicited a higher pleasure response than sexual intercourse. And as a virgin, who had been easily dazzled by the chaste kisses Edward and I had once shared, it was staggering to consider what that might be like…

But killing people was wrong… I had to remind myself before I was completely lost to the unfathomable hedonistic fantasy.

And yet… if I did take a position within the Volturi, I would almost definitely save hundreds, if not thousands more than I killed. _Was that not justification enough? _I contemplated uncertainly. _Those people are counting on me—no, the whole world is counting on me to protect it from chaos and devastation. _

_Could I really say no? _I thought, looking up at all the dark irises fixated on my person with a murky mixture of desperate hope, pleading and hunger in their unblinking eyes. I cringed as I pictured their immortal forms torn and blown to bits all over the ruined urban landscape of Seattle amidst charred-to-the-bone mortals. _If I do… and Alice is right, all that desolation is my fault… _I realized with absolute horror, shuddering at the thought of being inadvertently responsible for so much callous massacre.

_But_ _could I really say yes?_ I considered, looking gravely down at my hands, imagining them splashed in thick pools of bright crimson, and the bodies of my human friends lying mangled with howling expressions at my feet, stiffening further as I recognized Charlie and Renee amid the grisly pile within my mind's eye. Surely, in reality I would take care not to hunt those I cared about—but that did not change the fact that every mortal on this earth was a friend, a sibling, a parent, or a lover to someone—and by feeding in the traditional manner with the Volturi I would be cruelly taking them away forever. _Can I live with myself if I destroy the loved ones of others?_ I pondered, positively terrified of the copious amounts of blood I would be stained in either way.

"I… I…" I choked out in emotional distress—I couldn't make this decision, either way was a horribly sadistic choice.

"Yes, Isabella?" Aro murmured softly, tilting his head eagerly in anticipation of my response, and tapping his fingertips together in a gesture of unbridled excitement which set my frazzled nerves even more on edge than before. Panicking, I quickly looked away from his enthusiastic complexion, and unintentionally caught Alice hazarding a longing glance in my direction to signify her desire for me to choose to fulfill my "destiny" as outlined in her apocalyptic vision.

Turning from her, unable to bear the sight of her kicked-puppy eyes, I watched in mortification as Demetri and Felix paused in their taunting of Edward and donned imploring faces. Edward himself, though halfway-headless at the moment, gritted his teeth in harsh disapproval before mouthing the words "Don't do it." In the corner of the room, I noticed Jane and Alec briefly exchanging worried glances before nodding solemnly in my direction, and more towards the center I saw Athenodora nervously clutching the velvety fabric of her black gown and wringing it impatiently in her flawless alabaster hands. Several others, whom I did not recognize from Aro's memories—meaning that their faces were either shrouded from my view beneath the dark hoods of their austere cloaks, or that they had joined the coven more recently than the 1700s—also cast me beseeching looks and gripped anxiously at their venom-spotted garments. And a few of the vampires in the room even clasped their hands tightly and raised their maroon eyes skywards in what looked like fervent prayer.

But what really devastated me as I stood here in the midst of these vampires, struggling to answer a question of momentous importance, was that even Marcus stopped looking utterly lobotomized for a moment to flicker his gaze curiously in my direction. And if Marcus thought this matter was earth-shattering enough to actually pay attention, despite his own unanswered death-wish, then the pressure was definitely on.

"Have you made your decision?" Aro prompted cautiously, trying to avoid accidentally rushing me into a foolhardy choice, while simultaneously coaxing me to make my decision before his guard's robust, but steadily slipping self-control completely collapsed. He too, seemed to have noticed Marcus' uncharacteristic interest in my choice, and judging by his completely petrified expression, clearly this was not a good sign.

Strangely, I felt the sensation of my head bobbing in a nod of agreement, even though I had no idea what I was going to say. "Yes," I unexpectedly announced with my clammy mortal skin tingling with anticipation, and my mind whirring with the knowledge that once I uttered whatever I was going to say, I could not take these words back. _What are you doing?_ I inwardly begged myself. _This isn't something you can just thoughtlessly decide! The whole world is at stake here! _

But I ultimately decided to trust my gut and let whatever answer that was evidently building up on the tip of my tongue slip out—especially since that was probably the only way I would ever come to a decision. I was hoping beyond hope, and begging whatever cosmic forces that would listen that I might say the right thing.

The fateful syllables slid with surprising ease off the tip of tongue—so much so, that I didn't even realize what I had said until there was a collective gasp which dissipated into the tense, stale air in response to my declaration. And a subsequent sigh of relief from all, except Edward, who was making his best attempt at shrieking in protest, except for the fact that his severed windpipe prevented any sound from coming out of his viciously shaped lips.

"I want to become a vampire," I had declared coolly, the choice to embrace my heart's deepest desire feeling suddenly very right. "And I will join the Volturi as well," I added for clarification in the same bold, unwavering tone.

"Absolutely wonderful!" Aro exclaimed, suddenly rushing forward to envelope me in a hearty embrace, which was tight and slightly painful as a result of his overwhelming exuberance, but thankfully still considerate enough not to be literally bone-crushing as I had feared it might be. "You will make such a splendid immortal, Isabella," he praised flatteringly, abruptly releasing me from his unyielding grasp and dancing his excited hands in fluttering motions beneath his chin. He looked for all the world like he secretly wanted to be jumping up and down like a five-year-old who just received the best Christmas present ever. "I will be _honored_ to have you as a sister our coven."

I nodded slowly—I didn't really know what else to do in response to Aro's enthusiasm. But judging by the ecstatic glittering of his burgundy eyes, that small motion alone sufficed—and I dipped my head slightly in embarrassment of his over-the-top lauding of my choice, before looking expectantly over at Alice.

Her black eyes looked unusually glossy, which disturbed me until I realized that they displayed the vampire equivalent of tears of joy, rather than bearing any indication that I had somehow failed her in making this decision. "I knew you were smart enough to make the right choice, Bella!" Alice sang, though her light, musical voice trembled with great emotion, betraying her true uncertainty over the matter.

A wry smile managed to make its way across my face—I was relieved that Alice was pleased with the outcome of all her scrupulous preparations. But I was also still somewhat torn about the notion of killing people, and it felt impossibly wrong to grin like an idiot when the price of my imminent immortality was so high. Yes, it was thrilling in a way that I would soon possess a goddess-like potency of beauty and power—no longer would I be crummy, old, boring, clumsy Bella. But I felt that to revel in that now, while I was still just as human as the Volturi's wandering "dinner" would be insensitively selfish.

I could enjoy the perks I had lusted after ever since I had met the Cullens when they were given to me. But for now I needed to step aside and allow Aro and his guards to feed. The world was safe—for now—and with my resolution to join Aro's guard firmly in place I had no intention of becoming an appetizer for their main course.

But before I could vocalize my desire to escape and permit their meal to enter, at some unseen signal, suddenly the hulking hooded guard from before lurched forward from the ring of vampires surrounding us, spat a thick, sticky glob of venom onto the jagged surface of Edward's torn neck, and harshly yanked Edward's halfway-severed head back into its proper position. The guard held Edward's face tightly by the ears for a moment, until the cells seamlessly sealed back together, before releasing them as though they were scalding hot and darting back to his original post.

As soon as Edward's vocal capabilities were restored, he emitted a terrible howl. "NOOOOO!" he screamed, his irate voice ravaged with feelings of immense betrayal, and his eyes shining with imprisoned tears of incomprehension. "They will make you into a _murderer_, Bella. A _monster. _Is that was you want?" he demanded acidly.

I wanted to guiltily avert my eyes. But my spite for Edward's rash, unsympathetic behavior proved stronger than my shame over my decision to be a bringer of death in the end.

"I understand that most of the Volturi have no respect for human life," I replied neutrally, keeping my face devoid of all distress or admiration I might feel for the vampires I spoke of. "But with all that I have seen, I cannot find it in me to hate them for it," I admitted honestly, recalling Carlisle's own inability to summon enough malice in his being to despise even Caius, despite his ruthless and sadistic tendencies. I realized that I must have unintentionally adopted some of his ways of thinking as a result of having occupied his mind for a few years. "Does it bother me? Of course." I asserted, to make sure that Edward and everyone else in this room was aware of the fact that human demise still perturbed me at the moment. "Do I wish they would not pick such innocent victims? Of course," I contributed further, and I watched as Aro briefly close his eyes, looking suspiciously saddened—remorseless, but aggrieved, nonetheless—as though he was remembering the lives of his most blameless prey, which he must have experienced through his gift.

"But do I want them to not drink from humans at all?" I asked as my final rhetorical question. "No."

"What?!" Edward spat quizzically, wholly unable to understand. "WHY?"

"The Volturi need the strength human blood gives them, Edward!" I shouted with unexpected viciousness—he was really starting to get on my nerves. "They cannot afford to be weak in the face of their enemies," I said, remembering Carlisle and Aro's conversation about newborns and their ridiculous strength during that first year of their immortality, understanding that they would be utterly impotent against their foes if they were to dine otherwise.

"They are the foundation of the supernatural world's peace and civilization." I reminded him, selecting those particular words on purpose as a barb, as they were very similar to the words he had used when he had described the Volturi to me initially. "We are permitted to exist because they labor so hard to protect it," I said, placing my hands on my hips authoritatively, both to signify that my statement was irrefutable, and that I was intent on becoming a part of this force to protect the world. "The Cullens may be able to live with their weaknesses because their only opponents are occasionally each other. But the Volturi cannot afford the luxury of mercy," I declared finally.

Aro's smile split into an ecstatic grin at my words and Edward made a sour expression and looked like he wanted to scream something.

But before his angry lips could make any more vexing noises I swiftly cut him off. "They are not the villains, Edward!" I yelled ardently, shaking my hands wrathfully in his direction.

"They are not damn saints either!" he argued back with equal vehemence, his tousled coppery hair bristling like porcupine quills.

"I never said they were. Just that I understand I little better now why they absolutely insist upon following their instincts," I explained tersely.

Aro's face positively glowed with admiration, like I was some sort of heavenly apparition—the devotee of his wildest dreams—for saying such things.

Edward screeched at the top of his lungs: "You cannot do this! You cannot just turn your back on everything that you once were like that! Less than an hour ago you were strongly against this! How can you change your mind so suddenly? How is eating people suddenly okay?"

"While my mental barrier was gone, you could read my mind, right?" I enquired indignantly, and Edward slowly nodded his head in response. "So you know what I have seen. You _know_ that animal blood is unhealthy."

"Which is exactly why you have to choose to _die_!" He shrieked. He struggled in his fierce anger to rise to his feet, despite his lack of arms, only to be harshly pressed back onto his knees by the hulking dark-skinned guard from before, and another smaller cloaked vampire, so that he would not cause any further commotion than he already had.

"No, I do not, Edward! This is _my_ choice," I staunchly declared, jabbing my index finger at my chest for emphasis. "I don't like the idea of killing people—it's horrifying and gross," I admitted with a slight shudder passing over my mortal frame as I conceptualized the gory details of my first meal. Several vampires reacted to my disgust with worried faces, fearing that it could perhaps overwhelm my desire to join them.

"But if my destiny is to become a vampire, in order to save the world, then I will deal with it, for the greater good," I proclaimed audaciously, to allay Aro's and his guard's fears that I would abandon them, to express my defiance of Edward's terminal wishes for me, and to strengthen my own resolve to stick with this decision, no matter how unpleasant it might be at times.

"…No… please… Bella… no…" Edward whispered in horror. "Screw the greater good! Why don't you let all the vampires go extinct? Then no more humans would ever be killed to feed them. Wouldn't that be a good thing?"

"No!" I insisted with surprising fervor, clenching my vulnerable fists and teeth. I practically seethed with rage—as though I was already one of them and the struggle to keep vampires from extinction was a part of my own struggle for survival. "And even if vampire extinction was a good thing—millions of innocent humans are going to be caught in the crossfire if it comes to that," I reminded Edward, referring to the devastating calamities Alice believed were to come if I did not assist them in the upcoming fight. "I cannot let that happen. Is it not better that a few should die to protect the majority?" I asserted with callous logicality.

"That's—" Edward was dumbfounded by my cold reasoning. "…You can't think like that! What if some of those people were your parents? Your friends? Every human being is a friend or family member to someone. How can you take that away from them?" He screamed, and yet although there was passion in his voice, the words fell unnervingly flat—like he was reciting a script instead of speaking the words which truly burned in the depths of his soul.

"That is the cost of war," I found myself saying in an icy tone, which startled me. And from the way Alice unconsciously took a single wary step backwards, and Aro floated marginally closer in gleeful interest, I could tell that my uncharacteristic declaration had surprised them as well. "People will die, no matter what I choose, Edward," I explained with a touch more sorrow in my voice at the prospect to convey the fact that I was not entirely hardened into a shameless slaughterer as of yet, but was merely trying to put on a strong face for my anxiously trembling audience. "But hopefully, because of my intervention, that number will be significantly reduced."

"You… You… WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HER?!" Edward bellowed irately at Aro.

Aro chuckled darkly, "Ah, see… this is _so _much more satisfying than if I had killed you earlier!" he sang in utter delight, raising his arms enthusiastically towards the ceiling to demonstrate the height of his enjoyment with this turn of events. His pale, dexterous hands caught in a shaft of waning sunlight and sparkled dazzlingly. "Isabella knows that her destiny awaits," Aro continued, abruptly dropping his heavenward lifted hands to his sides as his angelic voice flowed like the smoothest satin over the syllables of my name. "And unlike you," he snarled distastefully at Edward, "she _embraces_ the price of immortality with open arms."

Aro outstretched his upward-turned palms in a motion which appeared as though he was inviting someone into a warm hug to punctuate his last statement, before he drew his pearly fingers together in front of his chest and released a deeply contented sigh. "Oh how delightful it is to see you watch your little puppet, the tool for your destruction not only successfully thwart your pitiful suicide attempt, but ascend to the very same plane of existence that you seek to rid yourself of," he breathed in appreciative awe, and afterwards his luscious, venom-glossed lips quirked into a machinating smirk.

"From the beginning, Isabella was already dead in your eyes," he recalled wistfully, tapping his immaculately sculpted chin idly as he played the memories he had seen in the younger vampire's mind over again in his head. "Whether you turned out successful through this harebrained scheme of yours, or whether your resolve slipped and she became lunch, she was dead either way. You never, in all your plans, assumed that she would somehow survive," Aro said with a small shake of his head to indicate his opinion that Edward's assumption of my inevitable passing had be infinitely foolish. "Even your worst case scenarios involved her death—by James' hand or by ours."

"You assumed, to your detriment, that Jasper's influence would keep her inquisitive mind in check until you made your move," he explained.

I gasped as I learned that the youngest member of the Cullen family had somehow been involved in the tangled web of lies which had led me here, working on Edward's side, no less, rather than Alice's as I had initially assumed.

"But even with your plentiful bribes of blood stolen from local morgues, and lies as to your true motives you failed to account for the fact that his powers are not limitless," Aro revealed, which caused me to a small measure of relief as I realized that Jasper had only agreed to serve Edward's foul ends while unaware of the desired outcomes, and desperate for adequate sustenance. "And so in order to keep up the pretense of sustainable 'vegetarianism' that Alice had insisted on if he chose to stay with them, he gave up on manipulating her a few weeks before you left."

Edward cursed under his breath that his plans had been so royally foiled and Alice smiled, as if she had known the outcomes of both of their decisions all along, and merely pretended not to know of their clandestine agreement to serve her own ends.

"Of course, because of his unwillingness to kill for human blood, he was not yet fully recovered from his efforts on Isabella's eighteenth birthday party. And his vulnerability to his own powerful instincts to feed, combined with the thirst he felt from the entire coven—especially yours, the call of _la tua cantante_—when her blood was spilt led to the infamous incident," he explained further. "You thought to use that opportunity to abandon her to despair. But you should know better than to try and outmaneuver Alice," Aro sighed exasperatedly, like a frustrated parent over a particularly idiotic and rebellious child. "And you should not underestimate the intelligence of young Isabella, either."

"You also presumed that the hallucination powder you stole from Aria and sprinkled over Bella at night, which caused her to see and hear you whenever she experienced high rushes of adrenaline, would send her desperately barreling off the nearest cliff to her death."

I gasped—_after he left, Edward had drugged me to try and get me to kill myself? _I could scarcely believe it, and yet I had no reason to suspect that Aro was relating anything but the truth. He had nothing to gain from lying at this point, and I knew from his memories that he had a particular revulsion towards unnecessary dishonesty. Still, it was mind-boggling to consider that Edward was really so desperate to die as to take such ridiculously drastic measures.

"You never imagined that she would be _relatively_ sane enough in her attempts to see you, and thus survive. Instead you jumped to hasty conclusions when you received that fateful phone call, and opted for the most melodramatic method of exposure, never pausing to consider that there might have been a terrible misunderstanding." Aro shook his head once again in disbelief. "Truly, Aria's spell has positively demented your mind."

Edward growled, low and menacing, but although Demetri and Felix gave him their iciest glares in response, Aro completely ignored him—not wanting to give him the morbid satisfaction of his intense displeasure. Without looking at Edward directly, Aro gestured offhandly towards the two guards forcibly pressuring his armless body to his knees. "Take him to the dungeons and let him reassemble himself. We will deal with his transgression later."

The guards wordlessly nodded their assent and swiftly swept out of the room through the discreet wood-paneled entry door with Demetri and Felix trailing not too far behind, carrying Edward's angrily twitching arms. As they slid the door carefully shut upon their departure, I heard more screaming from Edward that he wanted to die, before a sickening crack echoed through the stone hallway beyond and an eerie silence suffocated the room.

"They didn't kill him, did they?" I asked in frantic desperation.

"No," Aro said with the utmost confidence in his loyal servants. "I would imagine that they simply shut him up for now—his howling voice can be rather grating on the ears after a while."

Numbly, I nodded to convey my understanding, and awkwardly clasped my hands behind my back, rocking back and forth on my heels as I pondered what I should do next—since the sizable crowd of vampires in the room were growing increasingly agitated in their extreme thirst. Really, they ought to feed—_right now_—and it was probably better for me to not be present while that occurred, lest they become confused and sink their teeth into me instead of the ill-fated tourists that Heidi had skillfully amassed for them.

Glancing over at Alice, who held her mouth firmly shut and refused to breathe, I frowned as I wondered if she intended to feed here as well. I also wondered if Jasper was aware of her plans to join the Volturi and what he would do in light of this information. Alice had said that his gift made hunting in the traditional manner difficult, but it was also clear that she cared for him deeply and the two would not want to be separated for too long. Knowing the Volturi's policy of inviting the mates of powerful members into the fold as well, I was fairly assured that Jasper would be given a place among their ranks if he desired it, based on Alice's merits, if his own were not sufficient enough to garner Aro's interest. But I simply couldn't imagine him participating in the feeding in the throne room at all—not if the fear of his victims was really so traumatizing to motivate him to live in a grating state of starvation, struggling to combine all the bagged blood Carlisle could afford to smuggle home with large quantities of animal blood to keep him barely alive.

Shaking away these thoughts, and recalling the urgency of the situation at hand, I resolutely began walking towards the entry door to the throne room, intent on giving Alice, Aro and the Volturi guard the space to hold their monthly meal. As I walked, I forcibly excised all the grisly images my mind had summoned of those innocent, picture-snapping faces being cruelly twisted with insurmountable terror and bathed richly in their own blood as their throats were savagely torn into with diamond-strong teeth. I was going to join the Volturi someday, so I would eventually have to learn to get my extreme nausea at the sight of blood and death under control. But for now, I just needed to get out of here.

"And where might you be headed, dearest Isabella?" Aro enquired curiously. He drifted a few steps towards me as I paced determinedly across the circular stone floor, my sneakers padding softly over the large sandy-colored rock.

"I figured it would be best if I left for a moment so that you could…" I choked on the word, "_feed_."

"Ah, yes. How considerate of you." Aro beamed, displaying a full set of blinding white, highly venomous teeth. "But I think it would be rather educational for you to stay," he countered. He gestured cordially towards the thrones, the richly embroidered cuffs of his robes glinting in the sparse light which filtered into the dim room from the windows above. "Take my seat in the center and watch, I assure that you will be perfectly safe there."

"…You want me to watch you eat?" I could scarcely believe my ears—_What was this man thinking, inventing me to witness what I could only imagine would prove to be a stomach-churningly horrific scene? _

"You will be joining us in these sorts of activities shortly yourself, if I am not mistaken," he elucidated with a single elegantly raised eyebrow, evidently perplexed by my sudden reluctance in light of my previous declaration to join the Volturi.

"…Yes, but…" It seemed horribly out-of-place for me to be a spectator to their gruesome slaughter while I was still so physically vulnerable.

"You are concerned because you are still human that it will be distressing to witness," he stated in cognizant clarification, and I grimly nodded.

"Then it is best that you do stay," he soothed gently with a purring, velvety voice which sent a shock of tingling shivers down my spine. "It will not suddenly become any less upsetting upon your transformation—so I would recommend that you start to become accustomed to it now, before the thirst becomes overwhelming," he suggested reasonably. His perceptive eyes discreetly relayed the fact that he saw through the façade I was putting up for everyone else's sake and understood perfectly the extreme level of unease that the notion of causing human death still caused me. "There is still time to rescind your decision, if you do not like what you see."

"But once you become one of us… there is no turning back," he cautioned gravely. "I will not kill you if you find vampirisim is not to your liking."

I nodded again and with one last glance at the thirstily fidgeting congregants in the room, I quickly scampered up the short stone steps to ebony throne resting in the middle of the dais. I settled myself on it uncertainly, feeling like I was utterly disgracing the momentous regality of the elaborate furniture with my unworthy mortal presence.

Marcus gave me a bored look as he sat in the throne to my right before he rose from his seat and slowly drifted over to the center of the room where the vampires had begun to converge. His thick, sumptuous black cape billowed out behind him as he moved with surprising purpose and eagerness in each powerful stride. Clearly, even in his state of perpetual impassivity, he was not immune to the physical effects of hunger, and his stomach at the very least, was anxious to at last be satisfied.

"Jane? Go tell Heidi that we are ready for our meal now," I heard Aro instruct the tiny blonde, who obediently and eagerly scurried out into the hall to fetch their food.

After she had disappeared and the enthusiastic clacking of her low heels against the stone hallway beyond faded into uncomfortable silence, I watched, startled, but not entirely surprised as Alice moved gracefully in sync with the other vampires towards the center of the room in anticipation of the influx of helpless, unfortunate mortals who were soon to pour into their midst. Aro smiled seeing her take her place amid the thirsty crowd and the two exchanged a clipped conversation, whispered too low for me to hear, before Aro gave her a silent nod of assent and stretched forth his hand toward the door through which their meal was to arrive in order to invite her to the feast.

So it seemed that Alice planned on joining them now.

For some reason, that made me feel extremely sick—perhaps because in spite of all that I had learned today, the information was all still so new, and my mind still struggled to reconcile the false, friendly, animal-drinking Alice I had known for the past year with the altruistic, but masterfully manipulative, human-drinking Alice she truly was. She had told me on the plane that she already considered me her sister—_did she still mean that? _I wondered as she skipped enthusiastically to the front of the crowd. The guard bewilderingly made no protest as she stood closest to the door, despite not being officially inducted (so far as I could tell) into the Volturi yet. Perhaps, since her thirst was probably the most intense at the moment, they permitted her to pass—or perhaps they simply did not want to upset Aro by antagonizing his latest prized acquisition for a closer spot.

Either way, shortly after Alice had settled into a comfortable stance, the entrance doors creaked open ominously, and Jane flitted in through the passageway. She quickly took a choice spot beside Alice, and once she had glided into position, the party of roughly fifteen vampires automatically shifted to stand roughly thirty feet from the entrance to allow Heidi and the tourists adequate space to filter into the room. While the guard's deep black cloaks were swirling threateningly from their movements, Heidi sauntered into our midst with a distressingly smaller gathering of tourists than I had seen originally—most likely because some had "straggled" and been eaten by Caius and the others who left with him already.

The dark eyes of Aro's guard glittered with unrestrained delight as the mahogany-haired vampire made her dramatic reappearance, and their tongues flicked anxiously out of their mouths as the tour group trailed hesitantly in after her. Only one of the particularly naïve looking tourists was snapping away photos of the thirsty crowd before him now. I was upset to notice that every other tourist looked much more worried than before, glancing around wildly at their surroundings and the hungry congregate of vampires inching closer to their prey. They looked for an explanation from Heidi as to what this was all about, and seemed to be fearfully wondering where the rest of the tour group had gone. A short Hispanic woman, anxiously clutching a rosary and mumbling incomprehensibly in Portuguese, tried to swat away the flashing camera in the naïve man's hands and explain to him the urgency of the situation. But he didn't understand a word she said, and was much too absorbed in trying to capture every angle of the magnificent beings before him, to care.

Once all of the remaining tourists had piled into the room, Aro floated forward and all the vampires parted like the Red Sea before Moses to allow him passage to the front. As he moved slowly forward, Heidi surveyed the vampires in front of her as they looked over the crowd hungrily, and stared at me and my unusual place on the throne in curiosity for a moment before she must have decided to ask Aro about it later.

Aro stopped a few feet short of where Heidi stood, between the two groups, human and vampire. "Welcome home, Heidi," he purred in a smooth, buttery voice that made my veins run hot with jealousy. "Anything interesting I should know about before we begin?" he asked politely before routinely taking her hand in his.

"Not particularly," she said with an absent smile as poured over her recent thoughts. "They are a fairly typical group, it seems."

The crowd of humans looked totally confused by the exchange between the ancient vampires, and a mummer of frightened whispers passed through them as they struggled to process what was going on. I wasn't able to make out much from my position on the throne, but I clearly heard someone say, pointing an accusatory finger towards Aro's twin daughters, who stood eerily still slightly behind Alice, "Do you see their eyes? Red eyes, all of them. That doesn't strike you as creepy?", and another, "I knew this free trip was too good to be true."

They were starting to become suspicious. But as I gripped with intricately carved armrests of Aro's throne with white-knuckled intensity as I watched the terrible scene unfolding around me, I knew that soon it would no longer matter what they suspected of the vampires standing in an anxious half-circle across from them. Because they would be dead—and dead men tell no tales.

"I can see that," Aro acknowledged in response to Heidi's memories, releasing her hands before swiftly turning to the crowd and spreading his arms wide in a gesture I recognized all-too-well from his memoires—the signal to begin the feast. I cringed as I heard him speak the words, knowing that this time, I would not be mercifully spared from witnessing the experience—this time, it would not fade to black.

No, I would see and hear everything—in grisly, firsthand high definition.

"Welcome, guests! Welcome to Volterra!" he sang, and no sooner than the words had left his lips, the walls echoed with blood-curdling screams as the vampires all at once began to descend on their prey.


	21. Chapter 20: Bloodbath

**AN: So I was doing some timeline research in preparation for writing the confrontation in Seattle (I know that's a while off, but I wanted to make sure I had my dates and numbers straight, and I realized that I made a few mistakes in the initial chapters which I have now gone back and fixed. One was that I originally said that the beginning of new moon was a year after Bella had met Edward, when it's more like eight-nine months. Also my numbers for the Volturi were off, and I fixed that.**

**As best as I could find, these are the dates according to canon:**

Jan 18th - Bella meets Edward for the first time

Sept 13th (same year) - Bella's Birthday, incident with Jasper and Edward leaves shortly after this. Few weeks before, Bella starts to be suspicious when Jasper stops messing with her.

March 19th (next year) – St. Marcus' Day, and Bella arrives with Alice and all of the story thus far after the preface happens between noon and 1 p.m.

**As for numbers, Breaking Dawn numbers the Volturi at 32 when they arrive (not counting their witnesses, but including the wives) and 17 of those are unnamed. In this story, my OCs fill some of the other 17 unnamed spots allotted by Stephanie.**

**Keep in mind, however, that Caius and others have already left to feed earlier and not all of the guard are dining today anyway—roughly 2/3rds are since vampires without physical powers feed on a bi-monthly rotation. Those with physical powers feed monthly, and typically consume more than one person. (their names are marked with a *) Those with mental powers powers are marked with a ~**

Anyway, the list of Volturi thus far is:

1.** Aro~ **(Tactile telepathy – all thoughts one has ever had, involuntary)

2.** Marcus* **(Relationship perception)

3\. Caius

4\. Athenodora

5\. Sulpicia

6.** Chelsea* **(Relationship manipulation)

7.** Afton~ **(Invisibility Aura)

8.** Demetri~ **(Mental Tracking Sense)

9\. Felix

10\. **Corin~** (Addictive Contentment)

11.** Renata~** a.k.a. woman who drifts forward when Caius threatens Bella ch(7) (Misdirecting Shield)

12.** Heidi* **(Physical Attractiveness)

13.** Jane~** (Illusory Pain)

14.** Alec~ **(Sensory Deprivation)

15.** Vera* **(Physical Healing)

16.** Titania~ **(Tactile Telepathy – surface thoughts and experiences only, but voluntary)

17.** Lucretia~ **(Memory sharing)

18.** Yvonne* **a.k.a. woman who stands by Caius as a guard in ch(2); one of Carlisle's test subjects (physical power of telekinesis)

19.** Emi*** a.k.a. the other woman who stands by Caius as a guard; one of Carlisle's test subjects (physical power to mess with the temperature in a small area)

20\. Santiago a.k.a. hulking dark-skinned guard ch(19)

21\. Other smaller Vampire who brings Edward to his knees along with Santiago ch(7)

22\. **Chen* **one of Carlisle's test subjects (physical power of teleportation, needs to see or have a physical image of where he's going)

23-32. Unnamed Guards (probably physical strength types with no powers and/or mates of powerful members)

**Don't freak out if you have no idea who Yvonne, Emi and Chen are-this is the first time I have mentioned their names and powers. Also, ****Heinrich is not on the list because he was kicked out of the Volturi a while back because his gift was too annoying (he kept distracting the guard when they were supposed to be focused). Two of the other female test subjects and all but one of the men left (not having very useful powers). **

**Note: Usually all 7 physically powered members feed every month and eat at least two people, sometimes three. The remaining 25 feed bi-monthly (half one month, half the next) and usually only eat one. This means that those with physical powers require 4-6x more sustenance than other vampires, so they had better have really neat powers for Aro to want to provide for them. The average consumption per month with this arrangement is about 31. Parties of humans brought to feed on usually consist of around forty just in case they need more than they think. If any are left unconsumed, they are kept in the dungeons briefly for later emergencies. In this instance, Caius took Yvonne, Emi, Chen and two powerless guards with him so the crowd has been reduced to twenty-eight instead of the original forty that Heidi brought with her.**

**Okay, that's enough numbers and dates, lets get back to the story!**

**Oh... and if it wasn't already obvious from the previous chapter, just a warning, this one is going to be pretty violent. **

* * *

**Chapter 20: Bloodbath**

Although I had witnessed three deaths through Edward's mind as Felix fed Vera after healing him, and I had felt the immense pleasure Carlisle experienced drinking human blood when Aro had revived him from death, nothing I had witnessed earlier today could have ever adequately prepared me to endure watching the Volturi's muderously indulgent feast. Never, even in my worst nightmares—which could be terrifyingly vivid at times—could I have conjured something as simultaneously bone-chilling and macabrely beautiful as the violent scene which unfolded before my eyes.

When Aro gave the signal, all at once the wall of black and red bodies surged forward out of their previous formation towards the nervously fidgeting congregate of humans, with hands ferociously drawn back and teeth bared as they rushed in for the kill. A rumbling cacophony echoed off the chilly stone walls as their inhumanly fast feet thundered across the gap, and their dark robes rustled like the wings of a thousand bats in the stale breeze. In stark dissonance with this low growl of sound as the guard barreled threateningly across the flagstones came a series of bright, high screams of alarm released by the startled tourists as they were surrounded by thirsty predators. It was a discordant symphony of death, and as the lethal dance began I struggled to choke back the bile that was steadily rising in my throat.

This was real, I realized in terror—real as in, real people were going to actually perish right in front of me and there was nothing I could do about it.

No, worse than that, soon I was going to be a part of it. And despite my earlier assertions in favor of the "greater good" at the expense of the few, the knowledge that these poor, innocent people were about to die still made me painfully sick.

But as I fidgeted uncomfortably in Aro's throne, instead of averting my eyes from witnessing the brutal attack, I forced myself to focus, to intently watch every horrid detail, so as to steel my resolve so that I could handle these sorts of things when I was invited to participate myself. Aro's warning words rang in my ears. "_It will not suddenly become less upsetting when you become one of us_," he had said, and if that really was true, then if I were to be transformed anytime soon as it seemed I would be, I needed to get working on rescinding my moral scruples against human slaughter immediately. It would not do to wallow in unnecessary guilt or try to run away from the Volturi when the time came to feed.

Alice, Aro and the whole world it seemed was absolutely depending on me not to give up—and unless I wanted a nuclear fallout on my hands, it seemed that I could not afford to let them down.

Of course, as Carlisle had discovered, I found that uprooting what I had believed for as long as I could remember to be the most fundamental moral wrong and trying to wrap my head, and more importantly my heart, around the idea that it was okay all of a sudden—that killing people for food was perfectly fine—was something _profoundly_ easier said than done. The gut revulsion I had accumulated over the last eighteen years of my life towards performing such a ghastly deed wasn't going to disappear overnight, that was for sure. But I realized that Aro was probably wise to suggest that I begin to desensitize myself to the vision of mortal death as soon as possible, because if it was going to take awhile, I might as well get started now, when I wasn't clawing at my thirst-ravaged throat right?

Still, my newfound determination to attempt to put myself at ease with the events transpiring around me did absolutely nothing to mitigate my horror as I watched my friend, Alice, the adorable little fashionista, race in the forefront of the hungrily dashing crowd. Her wide black eyes were fixated on an American man in his late thirties, and her chin was oozing with thick drool. I cringed deeply as she seized him harshly with her petite, gloved hands—being the first of the vampires to grab hold of her intended prey—and had to bite my tongue to keep myself from screaming as she made no hesitation before burying her spiky-haired head savagely into his neck.

An awful wet ripping sound was heard as she tore hungrily through his skin before bright red blood began to pour from the cavernous laceration she made, and the viciousness with which she slurped up the thick fluid as it gushed from his esophagus churned my stomach. The man in her arms howled and wriggled in her solid granite grasp, his utterly unprepared body was wracked with excruciating pain as her venom was introduced into his bloodstream. But Alice paid his pitiful struggles no mind whatsoever as she zealously consumed him. Her mind was rather occupied at the moment.

I noticed that every curve and angle of Alice's petite body appeared to be livened with a feral electricity, the act of feeding clearly energizing her, restoring to her the strength she had lost to black-eyed hunger and to those years of living on the brink of starvation. It made me queasy to watch her imbibe this man's life away so excitedly. But remembering my purpose for witnessing this, I painfully swallowed the acrid lunch backing up in my throat and after briefly glancing away until the worst of the disgust passed, I redirected my horror-struck eyes towards the rest of the tour group, anxious to see their reactions to this terrifying, nonsensical (in their eyes at least) violence.

It seemed, however that the rest of the thus-far unscathed tourists were completely frozen in shock, and before they could properly react to what was happening, beyond their faces draining completely and mouths gaping in unbridled horror, Jane leveled an icy glare into a twenty-something year-old woman of Asian descent. The woman abruptly collapsed against the hard stone floor, shrieking and thrashing wildly. After a few moments of amusedly watching her prey writhe, scream, and beg for mercy in sobbing Japanese, the tiny blond vampire seemed to grow bored with playing with her food and lunged for her throat.

While she feasted, crouched over on the ground, a few nameless guards rapidly subdued their own meals and the remaining mortals scattered frenetically across the room. Some scratched against the entry door in a pitiful attempt to escape, and others simply ran wildly about, trying their hardest to avoid the hordes of grasping hands and venomous teeth searching them out.

As absolute chaos erupted in the throne room, I was disgusted to see several immortal faces twist into expressions of sadistic glee—apparently momentously pleased with the terror of their soon-to-be victims. And their evident satisfaction with the helpless howling and squirming human beings scrambling around pathetically only served to terrify their intended meals further.

Only two of the faces I could see, that is, two of the faces which were not yet subsumed in some mortal's wriggling neck—Aro's and Marcus'—seemed to display other emotions than brutal excitement. Marcus wore an expression of shrewd calculation as he paced slowly around the room, sweeping his cold dark eyes over the people who scurried away from him as fast as they could manage once he settled his unnerving gaze upon them, as though using some unknown criteria to search for the perfect dinner. And Aro's face presented a vibrant kaleidoscope of emotions—ranging from mildly amused, to inconsolably sad, to ravenously thirsty—as though he was pleased with the delight of his guard, and was itchingly anxious to feed, but also harrowed up by the knowledge that his gift would inevitably make the experience somewhat sour.

It jarred me, as I held the armrests of his throne in a strangling death-grip and bit my tongue to keep myself from screaming, that I felt a stab of empathy for the man as he glided effortlessly over the sandy slabs of rock beneath his powerful feet. His eyes were flickering wildly toward every remaining menu option, and at first I was perplexed by his indecision (since it hardly mattered who he chose, if none of their blood particularly appealed to him). Until I abruptly realized that he must be trying to ascertain which life would be the least traumatizing to witness as he eagerly drained it away. Some people had lived through some positively unbelievable things, and having spent quite a while within his chaotic mind, I empathized with his desire to avoid further suffering. Also, I understood that to be forced to feel not only his victims' paralyzing agony in the moment he bit them, but also to intimately connect with every aspiration, every motivation for living, and every clamoring instinct for survival when he sank his famished teeth in, and brushed his frigid lips over their fragile skin must be absolutely torturous.

_How could he stand to do such a thing?_ I marveled. _Jasper thinks his own gift makes feeding hard. But to me it looks like Aro has a much worse burden to bear._

While I was lost in pondering this, I noticed Aro's daughters raise both their chubby little arms in unison and point at an older Latino man in his late fifties who was cowering pitifully near the rounded wall, and muttering what looked like a desperate prayer in Spanish. When he noticed the approach of the little girls, he stumbled over his own feet trying to run away, crashing helplessly to the floor. As he shakily clambered back to his feet, without a word, the unsettlingly synchronized twins split up and dashed towards him from both sides, before leaping above him in deadly, graceful arcs which sent their lavish gowns splaying and ruffling. There was a terrifying, and yet breathtaking moment as they soared over his head, their cherubic faces and arms sparkling along with the sumptuous fabrics they wore in a shaft of sunlight before they dived with stunning precision onto his shoulders and bit gruesomely with their tiny, razor-sharp teeth into his neck.

The force of the twin's fatal impact knocked the unstable man off his feet and sent the trio hurtling to the floor. But even as they toppled into an ungainly heap on the ground, neither of the twins broke away from their hungry guzzling. Nor did they seem to care that the man pinned beneath them was weakly struggling and globby, salty tears were pouring from his fading brown eyes while his blood waterfalled into the girl's mouths.

As the twins happily devoured their shared meal, some of the first vampires to start feeding finished draining their victims and drew their heads back from their pale necks. The vampires' lips and sometimes chins too were all stained the same hue of vivid crimson as their eyes, and cheeks flushed brilliant rouge and eyes closed as though enraptured by the taste they had just experienced. Before I could truly understand what was happening, the bodies of these vampires seemingly involuntarily arched backwards, and noises of profound pleasure escaped them—ragged gasps and moans that sounded halfway between the "ah" sound one makes after downing a particularly delicious drink, and the cries of delight typically issued only in the climatic throes of passion. A hot blush suffused my face and suddenly, I felt extremely dirty for having witnessed their satisfaction.

Especially as Alice's head titled back, her dusky eyelids fluttered closed, and she released the loudest moan of them all.

When the next round of vampires expressed their delight at the conclusion of their meals in a similar fashion, Marcus seemed to take this as his cue to select his prey. He darted without warning toward a young African couple who were kneeling on the floor near the center of the room, clutching each other in fear and whimpering nonsensically. As he approached them, they made no additional protests—seemingly resigned to their fate—and eerily did not even scream as Marcus' strong hands aggressively separated them, taking the man forcibly away from his wife so that he could tear at the man's soft flesh with his craving teeth. It was disturbing to watch Marcus feed with such fervor—since he had seemed so utterly lackluster about everything in life only minutes before—and I cringed as that awful gooey tearing sound, and Marcus' eager slurping reached my ears.

Once Marcus had finished with the man, he savoringly licked his bloodstained lips while sighing heartily, and like the others, his wavy-haired head sailed backwards instinctively in response to the magnificent flavor. With his brilliant crimson eyes were tucked out of sight, and his body was still arched as he relished his recent feeding, Marcus callously dropped the man's bloodless body to the floor only a few paces away from the woman who had originally knelt beside him. The surviving wife shivered and wailed pitifully, staring heartbrokenly into her husband's cold, dead eyes. Unexpectedly the pathetic sound caused Marcus to snap upright and saunter slowly back over to where she cowered—I thought at first, to taunt her—since his dark red lips were twisted into a cruel smirk. But I nearly leapt out of my majestic seat when Marcus suddenly reached for the woman and voraciously proceeded to consume her as well.

None of the other vampires thus far had taken a second victim—Alec and Renata both seemed to be content with just one, and were now dragging the pale, lifeless bodies they were left with towards several others. Clearly they were attempting to amass all the human remains in a single location, probably so that they could be more easily dealt with once this was all over. Jane too, was finished and instead amused herself while the rest of her guard was still feeding by sending the handful of survivors crashing to the ground in head-splitting agony. Even the twins, who had shared their meal, made no move to subdue any additional prey, and instead skipped happily, hand-in-hand towards me. As they suddenly plopped into sitting positions several steps up the dais, they settling into an animated conversation about their recent meal.

But while the disharmonious chorus of human fear and vampire satiation continued to ring, I realized that Marcus was not alone in his extra indulgence. I watched Heidi, Vera, Chelsea and Alice all rush off after impassively depositing their bloodless victims on the growing mound of expired tourists, in search of a second course. Once they had completed their animalistic biting, drinking and gasping, Heidi even took a third victim in her ravenous thirst—apparently quite spent from utilizing her physical charm to lure all those humans here, and Alice took a fourth, clearly trying to compensate in part for the past fifty years of insufficient nutrition.

I shuddered in my seat as I witnessed the four women revel in their additional feasts. But I was somewhat distracted from Heidi's and Alice's final cries of bloodgasming delight as Aro's daughters' conversation reached my ears. It unnerved me to watch and listen to the twin's cheery, adorable little voices speak so casually of the human being they had just consumed—like they were evaluating the quality of a particular flavor of ice cream—especially since neither of them seemed to notice, or care, that their petite rosy cheeks were splattered with sticky droplets of blood and it ran in rivulets off their immaculate teeth. They interacted as though absolutely nothing was amiss, at least until Titania seemed to realize there was something unintended lodged in her tiny molars, and after fishing around with her tongue, she eventually spat a sizable, gelatinous chunk onto the tawny stone steps which I was horrified to recognize as human skin.

Dark spots filled my vision, and I briefly had to duck my head between my knees to prevent myself from passing out—watching Aro's adorable daughter spit out a piece of human flesh like it was broccoli stuck between her teeth was just too much. I was acutely aware of the fact that my own tissues were just as fragile as that of the man that these little girls had recently consumed, and it was disturbingly difficult not to think that I could end up as nothing more to these beautiful creatures than a sweet taste and a minor dental annoyance. Certainly Aro had promised my safety as long as I remained confined to his chair for the duration of the Volturi's gruesome feast. But even with all of my faculties tirelessly devoted to trying to keep it together—endeavoring not to scream, cry, faint or vomit—I believed it was only a matter of time before I could no longer endure it.

The sticky, crunchy, and slurpy sounds my ears were consistently assaulted with were utterly nauseating, and the images of savagely moaning crystalline faces, discarded scraps of broken skin and clothes, and beady droplets of blood littering the floor awakened every dormant survival instinct in my highly vulnerable body. My instincts begged me to run, to hide, to do something other than just sit here helplessly and watch my fellow human beings get viciously massacred, but I had resolved to do this. And upon noticing Aro's dark maroon eyes searching mine out among the crowd, brimming with a paradoxical concoction of concern and confidence, my determination to see this through to the very end was strengthened.

After a few more moments of sitting ramrod still as I perceived this ghastly scene of lawless indulgence, I noticed that only two humans had not yet been added to the hideous pile of bodies amassed over the grate in the center of the room, and that Aro was the only vampire still pacing agitatedly around in search of food. The others had all ceased to dine and were drifting slowly towards the outskirts of the room, leaving their ancient leader alone as he wandered elegantly in wide circles. Aro surveyed both frightened figures who were still left alive with a paradoxically thrilled and grim expression.

For fifteen agonizing seconds the room was utterly silent—the remaining pair was shell-shocked into wordless terror, unable to gasp or scream or even cry, and Aro made no sound whatsoever as he floated majestically over the pale stone floor, his hungry eyes flickering uncertainly over their cringing forms. One woman and one man exchanged nervous glances from their positions clinging to the far walls while Aro paced. But they did not dare make the slightest disruption, lest they garner the fearsome vampire's attention and earn death at his hands as a result.

Finally, after he had circled the room like a vulture patiently waiting for death at least ten times, Aro drifted slowly towards the woman. She was a pasty, freckled red-haired girl no older than nineteen who huddled trembling behind her knees. Aro graciously (at least it appeared that way) extended his hand to her as though he wanted to help her to her feet. Her bright blue eyes widened in disbelief at the terribly out-of-place gesture, and after an uncomprehending moment she hesitantly reached to take it, figuring she had absolutely nothing to lose at this point. While Aro languidly pulled her to her feet, his thin alabaster lips whispered something low and smooth in her ear which seemed make her relax, putting her in perfect ease in his indomitable presence, despite the momentous danger she was in.

Once she was breathing evenly again, Aro's cool hands fluidly left hers and skimmed up over her bare shoulders and tickled softly up her throat until they tenderly grasped both sides of her head. His thumbs traced intricate patterns over her cheeks for a moment, which caused her innocent blue eyes to widen in appreciative awe, before he dipped his head solemnly and deposited a small goodbye kiss on her forehead. As he drew back, I thought I saw his nearly black eyes reflect the glossy light of venom (though it could have simply been a trick of the light), and I felt tears of my own spilling over my lower lashes and stinging against my raised hands as I knew what would happen next.

With another delicate whisper that lulled the young woman to calmly close her eyes, his hands suddenly twisted sharply to the right, her spine emitting a hair-raising _crack_ as it shattered in response to the jerky movement. The the remaining mortal let out a strangled shriek as the young woman went terribly limp all of a sudden. No longer consciously present enough to support herself, the redhead nearly collapsed to the ground before Aro gingerly caught her breathless corpse in his lean arms, and raised her freckled throat slowly to his lips. I wasn't sure whether I should cringe or sob as I watched him gently sink his teeth through the vulnerable layers of her skin, and hungrily lap at the bright red blood that spilled forth. His hands fisted tightly in her flimsy white sundress as though he was in considerable pain, and yet his enthusiastically sucking lips and tongue told another story entirely.

Every vampire in the room paused to watch him feed—and I honestly couldn't blame them. The scene was so heartbreakingly beautiful and sad that I couldn't bring myself to look anywhere else.

As he fed he somehow managed to keep a single drop of the young woman's precious from slipping wastefully to the floor, even as he drank with the same savage fervor as everyone else. Having experienced Carlisle's obscenely messy feeding as newborn, and having now viewed the comparatively tame, but still somewhat carelessly dripping mouths of the other members of his guard, I figured this was an evidence of several millennia of practice, rather than an inherent skill to all vampires.

When her blood was finally spent, and after he had licked away the viscous scarlet streams dripping from his lips, his head sailed backwards like the others had and he called out with a disturbingly orgasmic moan that utterly eclipsed all his earlier apparent despair with extreme, unadulterated pleasure. Several of the vampires watching looked somewhat perturbed by this rapid shift of mood. But they quickly averted their unblinking stares as Aro suddenly straightened and glanced around the room with a severe expression before he recalled that a bloodless body was still trapped in his tenacious grip. In a poignant display of gratitude, Aro gently cradled his kill, holding her soulless shell securely in his arms and bending to his knees to cushion it even further as he lowered it reverently to the floor beside the others.

Once he was finished, he rose regally to his feet again and coolly stepped away from the pile. He then nodded authoritatively towards a few of his guards who at his signal abruptly split into two groups. The first sprinted towards the remaining survivor and forcibly hauled him out of the room—no doubt to be imprisoned in the dungeons until he was needed. And the second suddenly darted towards the grisly pile of bodies and began stripping them for loot—watches, wallets, cameras—tossing their tattered clothes in a pile to be burned, and heartlessly shoving the naked figures into the hole in the center of the room where the grate had been taken away.

I closed my eyes tightly, and covered them with my hands, unwilling to watch the unfeeling desecration of the dead, and nearly jumped out of my skin as I felt an icy hand settle calmly over my shoulder.

My eyes shot open and I was surprised to find Aro standing before me with bright crimson eyes, flushed cheeks and slightly bloodstained lips, with all traces of previous sadness and grief completely erased from his features. Instead, he was grinning ecstatically, as though he was nothing but pleased with the experience of his recent meal, and not at all troubled by whatever emotionally taxing experiences he must have lived through whilst consuming that poor red-haired girl's blood.

I knew that centuries of practice gave him impeccable control of his emotions, but it was still highly unnerving.

"Are you alright, Isabella?" He enquired softly, stroking my tense muscles with his strong masculine fingers. "I do hope we did not frighten you too much with that display."

All I could manage was a numb nod—my emotions were all a mess: I wasn't sure whether I should break down in devastated sobs, vomit in total revulsion, scream in absolute terror, or laugh hysterically in extreme discomfort. None of these reactions seemed adequate to express how I really felt—I was terrified and traumatized, but the experience had also been very enlightening, especially as far as Aro was concerned. I now felt that I understood exactly what he meant when he had said that he had _"nothing but the utmost appreciation for their sacrifice_," about the humans he slaughtered to satisfy his thirst.

It was painfully evident that Aro did not feed torment-free—seeing all of that woman's thoughts had made a profound impact on him I could tell. But at the same time, it was just as evident that he enjoyed the taste and sensation of drinking human blood to a degree that was mind-boggling in its loftiness. The height of the pleasure he gained from the act was obvious—as it had been with the others. But as he had tenderly lowered the woman's bloodless body to the floor, it was equally obvious that a part of him was pained by the loss of someone who through his inescapable powers had essentially become a part of himself.

"Shall we proceed with your transformation, then?" Aro asked suddenly, capitulating me out of my swirling thoughts back into the present with his weighty suggestion. His eyes, as they peered down at me seemed to completely comprehend the tumultuous storm of feelings raging within me, despite the fact that my mind was closed to him. "It would be best…" he paused, wringing his hands uncomfortably, sensing that I might be disturbed by his next words, "…if I performed the act while I am well nourished. Otherwise, I might simply devour you."

I cringed as he mentioned the possibility of accidentally eating me. But having seen what that would entail, I actually relaxed a little bit. If I were to die being eaten by any vampire, perishing in his arms was probably the best that I could hope for, as it seemed he was rather considerate toward his victims—lulling them softly into sedation and snapping their necks so that they would die instantly and not have the endure the agony of his venom.

"Unless…" Aro continued with uncharacteristic trepidation, "…you no longer desire to become one of us with what you have seen…"

I shook my head resolutely to refute his last statement. "No, I still want to become a vampire. And I will still join you. But does it have to be right now?"

"I am afraid that is when it is safest, my dear," Aro explained with a melodious sigh. "I too..." he splayed a hand over his Volturi pendant, which rested over his unbeating heart, "...would prefer to give you more time to consider the matter," he expressed, genuinely indicating his desire to allot me more time for such a vital, and irrevocable decision. "But I cannot promise your safety should we wait another few weeks."

"With what you now know," he continued, tossing an errant hand in the direction of my brain, "I cannot let you out of my sight until you attain immortality. But to keep you here in such a vulnerable state is ill-advised…" he trailed off with a look in his eyes that clearly said _I am certainly not the only danger to you in this castle—and you really have no idea how peculiarly mouthwatering you really are_. "Who knows what might happen on accident?" he declared, spreading his arms wide to emphasize the wide swath of possibilities which could lead to my demise if another incident like the one at my 18th birthday party were to occur in these halls. "I would hate to lose such a riveting individual as yourself because of thoughtless procrastination," he murmured softly, sliding his hands delicately beneath my shaking chin and gazing deeply into my swimming brown eyes, before hovering back a step to allow me some space to mull it over.

I nervously chewed on my lower lip and offered a curt nod—Aro was right. It was probably best if I was transformed as soon as possible. And honestly, what did I want to wait for? I had made my choice, and I was sticking with it, even in spite of the unspeakable things I had just seen and just learned over the past hour. Was I really going to turn my back on the world and change my mind tomorrow?

No. My decision stood firm, so it hardly made a difference if I was made immortal today or tomorrow.

"You're right. Change me," I boldly invited, extending my arms at either side of me as I sat in his throne and tilting my head back to offer him much better access to my neck.

Aro gasped—I wasn't sure if it was in excitement or fear—before he hastily gripped my face by the ears with his glacial hands and pressed it back into its original position. "It is not prudent to tempt me, Isabella. I will need to be in complete control for this," he cautioned sternly, before casting a few glances around the room at his guard, who were just finishing up the routine post-feast clean up procedures and filing impassively out of the room. "Besides, I think you will want to lie down for this—the pain typically lasts for two to three days, and I think this chair will begin to be rather uncomfortable long before that."

Oh. Duh—why didn't I think of that? I knew what transformation pain felt like through Carlisle, and I definitely did not fancy experiencing that again while struggling to maintain a semi-upright position. Writhing on the floor or against a soft downy mattress seemed much more preferable.

"Can you stand? Or would you prefer me to carry you?" Aro asked tenderly.

I was about to snort at his ridiculous question—_of course I could stand, thank you very much—_before I found myself totteringly dizzily as I struggled to rise to my feet, feeling ridiculously faint all of a sudden. As I nearly tripped down the steps of the dais and gave myself a terrible concussion, Aro swiftly caught me in his lean arms before my head connected with anything hard (something he seemed to be disturbingly expert at) and adjusted my haphazard positioning in his careful grasp so that I was resting comfortably, bridal-style in his reassuring hold.

Aro chuckled to himself as he began descending the short stone steps with me safely tucked away within the folds of his flawless robes and cape. "I do apologize," his rich baritone voice purred softly in my ear as he passed his twin daughters and floated effortlessly closer toward the turret room's sole entrance and exit. "I simply find it hilariously ironic that you grow faint at the sight of blood, considering what you are about to become," he admitted with a bemused smirk.

I was about to laugh too at the ludicrousness of my current queasiness until I was stricken with a frightening possibility.

"Do you think I will keep that when I change?" I questioned nervously, looking up into his jarringly bright red eyes. I struggled to keep my flushed face several shades lighter than tomato red as I noted the rosy hue of his cheeks, and recalled the unfathomable gratification which had accompanied them not too long ago. My hyperactive hormones decided that's what Aro's face might look like during sex—and that thought really wasn't good for my sanity.

Aro truly laughed this time—loud and ringing like a church bell—as he imagined me as a newborn vampire, passing out as I tried to feed. "Now _that _would be most unfortunate," he joked mirthfully, a bright smile gracing his heavenly features, which was only enhanced as he strode through a thin patch of sunlight and his bright white teeth glittered like a thousand diamonds. "But I highly doubt that will be the case," he assured confidently, considerately brushing a stray strand of my stringy hair behind my ear as he spoke. "Your enhanced senses will recognize blood as food."

"The best human equivalent to the scent is... probably the smell of fresh baked cookies right out of the oven," he supplied with a sly grin. "Though that still fails to capture it, I think." He tapped his chin thoughtfully, searching his fathomless mind for a more appropriate metaphor. "Imagine the tastiest food you have ever consumed and multiply that by ten and you'll have some idea of human blood's magnificence. Trust me, Isabella, the last thing you will feel is queasiness," he related with the utmost confidence.

While we paced gradually closer towards the entrance/exit door of this violence-tarnished throne room, the other vampires were far too absorbed in the task of taking care of the human remains to spare a glance at us.

"But you said... _feeding_... still would be just as hard..." I protested weakly, still struggling with the uncomfortable word, especially now that I had seen just how nasty it really was.

"No, I said that _killing humans_ will still be difficult to watch and do at first," he clarified, with pointed emphasis on the most disturbing portion of his statement. "The thirst can help compel you to bite, but it cannot absolve you from the guilt you might feel when you are finished with your meal," Aro explained, a dark shadow of sorrow covering his complexion for an infantesimal moment before his blindingly sunny demeanor returned. "I was hoping that today might show you that there is no reason to feel guilty for living as we were created to. Because guilt in a vampire, can induce nausea, and I do not appreciate waste."

I nodded and clenched my fists to keep myself from shuddering-the image of my vampire self violently coughing up blood in self-disgust with murdering people for food was vastly unpleasant and horribly gross. I sincerely hoped that my conscience would be easy to sway into acceptance of the orthodox vampire diet, because the notion of wasting the lives I had taken made me even sicker than the notion of taking them in the first place.

"But enough of this dismal talk," Aro dismissed cheerily. "Let us find a suitable place to change you, shall we?"

…

Aro carried me down the gloomy fortress hallways until we reached a small room in one of the other towers which housed a large, soft bed draped in black silk sheets. There a low oak table beside it, and a tall dresser on the other side of the room, both carved just as ornately as every other wooden surface seemed to be in this underground fortress. The room was very dark, lit with a low, orange glow by dimly flicking candles which sat in wrought-iron candelebras atop the polished furniture.

As Aro padded quietly over the threshold, he took a deep, focusing breath—not because he actually required it, but simply as a force of habit to channel his concentration—before he settled me gently against the luxurious mattress and deftly peeled back the collar of my wrinkled blouse to further expose my neck. Climbing slowly onto the bed with me, I gasped—and then rapidly became mortified by my reaction—as he spread himself over me. He rested a fraction of his taut, masculine frame over my all-too-thrilled-to-be-under-him mortal body, much as Carlisle had done with Edward just before he had delivered the transformative bite. My heart raced thunderously in my chest at our proximity, and as his soft, freezing hands once again tugged impatiently at the vexingly high collar of my button-up shirt, I had to grit my teeth to prevent myself from making any more embarrassing noises.

His extreme closeness and his icy touch were sending my crazed, one-sided lust for him into overdrive.

And it only got worse the longer he lingered there.

After a while of lying beneath his unbearably seductive figure (made infinitely worse, considering the fact hat he was _married_) I began to wonder why he had not bitten down yet, and I nervously inclined my head upward slightly to ascertain the issue. Apparently my shirt was still in the way, and as Aro fought unsuccessfully to drag it far away enough from my neck, in his growing frustration he seemed to forget that there were buttons he could undo to remedy that. Instead, he opted to forcibly rip the garment in half, the hopelessly flimsy cotton not standing a ghost of a chance against his supernatural strength. Peeling the shredded material gradually open, he immediately leaned in to perform the fateful deed and I stiffened as I felt a cool draft of air blow over my exposed stomach and shoulders, thankful that he had not managed to rend my bra in two as well, or else I would have completely lost it.

His teeth were ridiculously sharp as they bit through my throat—so much so, that in his meticulously practiced and perfected gentleness, I hardly felt them as they sank in like a knife through melting butter.

His venom, on the other hand, was a completely different story. ithin seconds I was screaming at the top of my lungs in tortured agony while his rough pink tongue danced over my hot skin, and he sucked savoringly at the deep wound he had inflicted. His tasting of my blood only lasted for a second though, before he reigned himself in and with great effort, resisted the instinctual frenzy and detached his clamped lips from my bleeding neck. As a few streams of blood leaked over his chin and he deftly caught them with his tongue before they spotted the dark sheets below, Aro tried unsuccessfully to placate me with soft shushings and gentle caresses. But suddenly it felt like he was miles away and I had been thrown in to a raging inferno which blossomed from my neck and spread rapidly to the rest of my body with each traitorous thump of my erratic heart.

Deciding to spare me a marginal portion of pain, Aro dipped his head and bit me in several more places, (on the wrist, across the stomach, on the other side of my neck, and on my ankle) to introduce more venom into my bloodstream and thus speed up the process of my transformation. With each bite I screamed louder and flailed in his unyielding grasp, and he struggled even harder to pull himself away. Though, of course, since he'd successfully turned many of the members of the guard without a single mistake that I was aware of, and he was quite well fed, he did not succumb to his baser instincts and drew his teeth out of my skin while my heart was will firmly beating in my chest.

At last he was finished biting, and after tenderly giving me a goodbye kiss of his own, he slipped off of me gently and floated backwards from the bed, surveying his handiwork—_toothiwork_?—with a torn expression. Through the thick haze of my pain-inflamed mind, I saw that half of him looked positively delighted that I would be a vampire shortly, and the other half looked deeply sorry that I had to endure so much agony in order to get there.

The last words I heard as a human were: "Do not fret, my dear Isabella. The pain will be over soon."


	22. Chapter 21: White Voids and Revelations

**AN: Whoa... sorry for the super late update, what can I say other than life happened. Just an FYI, no I am not abandoning this story, just some crazy stuff has been going on in the RL end of things, and finally now that I've got that all squared away I should be back with some semi-regular updates again. I just want to thank all of you guys for reading and supporting this story, it means a lot to me that I've gotten so much support thus far. What was one silly little idea after watching Breaking Dawn part II that I thought would only be a one-shot ended up turning into this extended saga of deceit and suspense. And I couldn't have done it without you-seriously! I know it's really cheesy, but my readers, watchers and reviewers inspire me a lot.**

**Anyway, here were are with another chapter! Yay! This one is actually from Aro's perspective, since I couldn't figure out how to do this one from Bella's and show everything I wanted to, so ****enjoy!**

**Just FYI, Chapter 22 is already well underway and will probably be posted within a week or so. **

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One: White Voids and Revelations**

The Volturi fortress was in a flurry of anxious excitement as my guard dutifully flitted about decluttering two sufficiently sized chambers within the ancient halls for our additional members to reside, and making careful preparations for war. The upcoming fight in Seattle—though Alice had assured us it would not occur until the middle of June—weighed heavily on the minds of all the vampires in this facility, myself included. And despite the fact that the delightful woman had yet to reveal any details beyond her brief, fateful declaration yesterday in the throne room, it had been obvious from the gravity of her tone that this newborn army was not a force to be trifled with.

Of course, newborn armies never were trivial matters, even if the said "army" was rather diminutive in number, for the sheer strength recently transformed vampires possessed gave them a distinct advantage. It was one of the many reasons—alongside the fact that such armies fed in a terribly conspicuous manner and the wasteful notion that those who survived past their year-mark were habitually slaughtered—that the practice was illegal.

One thing that perplexed me however about the entire situation was that Alice seemed to believe that the creation of this army was already well underway—at least her clipped words to me before she fled the castle to take advantage of her new allowance seemed to imply as much—and yet there were no obvious signs of the increasingly violent activity which usually accompanied an immortal populace of that size. Unprecedented spikes in murders, disappearances, so-called "animal-attacks" and the like were practically inseparable from concentrated large populations of vampires. And yet nothing of the sort had happened anywhere in the United States as of yet—my guard monitored the numbers around the world daily to ensure that there was nothing out of the ordinary and that mortals suspected absolutely nothing of our existence.

It was all very curious.

But at least until Alice was finished maxing out her newly awarded monthly funds on Italian designer apparel, the myriad of questions burgeoning in my mind would have to wait. Apparently being ill-equipped with attire appropriate for her new station constituted a "fashion-emergency" and needed to be rectified immediately. Honestly, in light of the impending crisis it hardly mattered to me whether or not she owned as many black velvet cloaks, "sensible, but cute" shoes, luxurious dresses, or leather battle clothes as the other members—her typical ensembles would have suited her just fine at least for a few more days. But evidently, even as a incurably sharp-dresser myself, I lacked the capacity to understand the magnitude of such a calamity.

I shook my head gently in exasperation, and sighed.

It seemed, as I stood before the door wherein Isabella lied, thrashing and screaming in the midst of her transformation, that despite the incredible insight afforded by my gift, there were still some things I utterly failed to comprehend.

…

"Alice dear, I must confess I did not anticipate that you would return so quickly," I greeted the petite woman genteelly as she strode gracefully into the receptionist's office. She was clad head to toe in costly fabrics of the deepest black, her thin little arms carried a vast swath of enormous shopping bags the way an Indian bride might wear bracelets.

"Though, considering your penchant for these sorts of outings, I really should not be terribly surprised that you have discovered the most efficient method," I admitted, rubbing my forefinger over my chin as I mulled the idea over.

Alice cracked a dazzling smile as she sauntered past me to set her purchases on one of the lush, beige couches. "Of course—the others never had very much patience when it comes to shopping, so I learned to be swift," she answered sunnily. "I can probably afford to take a little more time for my favorite hobby next time. But this time I figured quick was best, with all that's going on right now," she added, her bright, bell-like soprano darkening with solemnity for a moment as she referenced the upcoming confrontation. The sudden change of tone caught me slightly off guard. But the heavy serious atmosphere her statement had generated quickly dissipated once all of Alice's shopping bags were lined up in a crowded row atop the firm cushions, and her tiny hands delved into their contents to begin some incomprehensible, complex sorting ritual.

"Ah yes, my guard is making preparations as we speak," I informed her.

I watched raptly as she sifted through a vast array of fabrics in cuts and styles both thoroughly modern and vintage, both off-the-rack and custom, returning some articles to their original receptacles, and placing others in different bags. There seemed to be no obvious pattern to her reorganization—no distinction based on color, style, form or function seemed to be being made—though it was intriguing to see her unique taste, and what she believed was an acceptable compromise between the semi-conformity of dress expected of my guard, and personal expression.

"How is Bella?" Alice asked, pausing in her organization of purchases for a moment to look me directly in the eye with her piercing crimson gaze. Despite my millennia of impeccable control, I could not help the subtle smirk which tugged at the corner of my lips at witnessing this assuring sign of her recent satiation—especially since she had apparently spent the majority of the last five or six decades in a state of poor health.

"Her transformation is progressing well—" I paused in my response and Alice flinched slightly as an ear-piercing scream reverberated through the ancient stone halls, issuing from the poor, tormented Isabella who lied writhing a short distance from here. "…I surmise that in only another day or two she will be prepared to partake of her first meal as an immortal," I finished cordially, my agile fingers twitching with anticipation, hoping that this remark had pleased her and that Alice would proceed to allow me the stupendous honor of taking her hand and witnessing everything her marvelous gift allowed her to see. Certainly I had seen glimpses of her visions through Edward's eyes, but knowing of the girl's great cunning, I had the distinct impression that those select few were barely the "tip of the iceberg", or so the saying went.

Alice, however, seemed to be most interested in the latter portion of my statement, rather than the first. "You intend to feed her a live human?" She enquired skeptically, gently wringing a stretchy black cashmere tunic sweater in her hands, clearly troubled by the concept.

I arched a single eyebrow quizzically. "That is what she agreed to, is it not?"

"Of course." Alice hastily stuffed the sweater into one of the many bags seated to her right. "I just worry that it might not go over well this first time. She's decided to go through with it… I can see that, but her heart still struggles with the idea…" she trailed off, reaching into yet another bag and hefting out a pair of high-heeled, over-the-knee leather boots which were clearly too large for her petite figure.

"Do we all not struggle within ourselves when we take our first life?" I countered, once again prompting Alice to halt in her strange repositioning of clothing items from one bag to another. "Is that not why nature rewards us so plentifully for doing so?" I posited, recalling vividly the intoxicating sensation of pure ecstasy which had washed over my entire being only yesterday. I unconsciously licked my lips as the pleasurable memory resurfaced in my mind. "So that we might be able to overcome our mortal scruples and revel in the feast?"

Alice nodded to convey her agreement with my statements. "I just wish there was some way we could introduce her more… delicately. She's a sensitive person—definitely not so much as Carlisle. But enough that she may end up disgusted with herself the first several times," Alice explained, her porcelain features contorted with evident worry.

Obviously she cared very much for her "sister" and it pained her to imagine Isabella undergo the same rocky adjustment phase that the most compassionate members of our kind suffered through, even if it was for the greater good. I could not help but feel sympathetic to her plight, for I knew intimately what it was like to watch a dear friend be wracked with torment to their conscience over the idea of embracing their new, bloodthirsty nature.

I strode slowly, softly over to where Alice sat, anxiously staring at a beautiful deep red taffeta dress—which again was definitely much too large to be intended to fit her diminutive figure—and set a comforting hand on her little shoulder. In response to the tender stroke of my nimble hands, her spiky-haired head shot up and her unblinking eyes stared deeply into my own.

"I trust that Isabella will adjust rather rapidly. She is spirited, inquisitive, strong-willed and loyal, especially to you. She will come around," I assured her, cracking an infinitesimal smile in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Alice shyly smiled back. "I hope you're right," she said with a gloomy wistfulness.

"Might you be willing to show me what has rendered you so concerned for her welfare?" I asked delicately.

I extending my upturned palm gradually, hesitantly in a manner as unassuming and undemanding as possible—for I had no desire for my hand to be violently slapped away from her person a third time. With Gianna watching us covertly from behind her shiny laptop computer, as she sat stiffly behind the mahogany reception counter, I feared that my indomitable reputation among her secretarial peers might not survive the blow. And the last thing I wanted in this time of impending crisis was for gossip to spread that Alice was the vampire who was actually in charge here: regardless of how true it was beginning to feel, in light of recent events.

To my utter surprise and delight, Alice graced me with a short nod and languidly extended her small pale hand in the direction of my expectant hand, a knowing smirk overwhelming all previous vestiges of sadness in her expression. The impish glint in her eyes as she wiggled her delicate fingers tantalizingly before me told me that she was well aware of the extent of my eagerness to finally have access to her elusive and crucial thoughts and I inwardly cursed myself for being so enthralled with her powers that I allowed her so much control. Her presence in the Volturi certainly would prove invaluable in the months, years, decades and centuries to come, however it simply would not do to have her rise in prominence to the level of one who was afforded the rare privilege of openly chastising me so quickly. Caius—in his sourness over lacking a supernatural talent—would be positively livid if Alice became so highly respected in such an instantaneous manner.

"I did promise to show you everything, once Bella became a vampire, so go ahead Aro," Alice encouraged, rising fluidly to her chunky-heeled feet and gradually lowering her uncovered hand towards where mine hovered outstretched before her.

"Ah, yes." I sighed, the rapturous sound betraying my uncontrollable excitement as I watched with rapt fascination as her pallid appendage lowered with a painful slowness towards my anticipating skin. "Are you certain that the time is right for this?" I asked cautiously, just moments before our cool flesh collided, naturally quite nervous about the possibility of carelessly wrecking my chances for future survival due to my insatiable curiosity. "I know you have the utmost confidence in Isabella, however—"

Alice sharply cut me off. "Yes. No harm can come by you knowing now. And you're going to pester me about it endlessly if I don't, so here. Take it," she barked before suddenly grasping my hand in hers with a ferocious intensity—an action which would have normally been met with a disapproving snarl at the very least, if not a hearty slap in the face for such disrespectful behavior from a new recruit.

But I was too quickly inundated in Alice's past to protest.

While I plummeted backwards into the earliest sentient moments of her human life, I was stunned as I found myself sinking helplessly into a seemingly endless, blank white void. There, I was assaulted with an indescribable concoction of terror, pain, fear, sadness, loss, and anger, each resonating within my being at an intensity to which only a handful of my millennia of experiences could adequately compare. The torment was so exquisite that my lips parted to cry out in agony, and my hand instinctively flinched away from hers to break the connection.

"Aro, is something wrong? You barely touched me," Alice remarked with deep concern. She looked me over conscientiously as I blankly stared wide-eyed at nothing in particular, feeling numb.

Sensation gradually returned to my natural form, and the synapses in my brain finally registered that I was no longer enduring any immediate trauma. I blinked once, twice, before I trusted myself to speak. "Your human memories…" I breathed absently, still mentally lost in overviewing her myriad of thoughts—at least those I had been afforded the chance to view a decent portion of during my extremely brief contact with her flawless skin. "They are… _missing._"

There was a subtle—though obnoxious to my vampire ears—creaking in Gianna's receptionist's chair as she leaned in intently to hear our conversation better, eager to piece together from her one-sided perception of things, what exactly was going on between her feared leader and his newest fascination. Turning abruptly to face her, catching her directly in the act of not-so-surreptitiously spying on us, I politely informed her that I wanted her to gather with the other secretaries in the boardroom and discuss the least conspicuous method to disguise the Volturi's collective expenditures over the next several months so that the money was untraceable back to us. Gianna blushed profusely at being caught so blatantly eavesdropping on our private conversation, but she merely acquiesced my request with a genteel smile and evacuated the room as swiftly as humanly possible, hoping to save face through her speedy departure.

With Gianna gone, I turned back to Alice and parted my thin lips to speak. But the lively immortal woman before me "beat me to the punch" as the modern saying went.

"Aro, I don't want to talk about that," Alice whispered as soon as the unsteady clacking of Gianna's black pumps faded in the distance, quickly dodging my inquiry, obviously vastly uncomfortable with the topic. "You saw why I did it, right? Can we leave it at that?" she pleaded, a tinge of uncharacteristic anxiety coloring her normally upbeat tone.

"I understand that you feel that your human memories carry nothing worth remembering," I began solemnly, trying my best to respect her decision, despite how vehemently I disagreed with her assessment. "All that is left in your mind are feelings of pain, confusion, rejection, terror, depression, insanity… and a vast white emptiness…" I trailed off. My hands balled into tight, frustrated fists as I sought to suppress the feelings of white-hot rage and sting of betrayal that arose inside me as I remembered seeing that same emptiness in the minds of others.

I knew that there was only one creature in existence who could inflict that particular brand of amnesia.

"It is obvious that you had Carlisle _erase_ them because they troubled you," I said distastefully, practically spitting the word "erase" out of my mouth as though it were a foul, foreign object caught between my teeth. "But… why?" I questioned imploringly, wounded by her choice and incapable of understanding why Alice would willingly subject herself to such a thing. Carlisle's alteration of my memories had only brought me isolation from my dearest friend and an unhealable pain. "How could you tolerate to let him do such a thing to you?"

"It's easier to forget," Alice justified, her voice burdened with the dark heaviness of former trauma before it suddenly brightened back to its habitual cheeriness. "That way I can focus on the future, instead of being harrowed up by the past," she chirped happily, swinging her lithe arms ever so slightly to indicate her perfect contentment with this life-altering decision of hers.

"It hasn't ever bothered you that there is a gap in your mind? Years in your memories that simply… no longer exist?" I enquired, profoundly incredulous towards Alice's troubling reasoning—_what could be so terrible that one would rather know nothing about it, than anything at all?_ I wondered, terrified by own gruesome imaginations of what might have happened to so permanently traumatize the perceptibly unflappable pixie.

"I have the emotions with me still, and they remind me why I erased the events," She justified hurriedly, dismissing my heavy concerns with a casual wave of her hand, as though they were nothing momentous. "What I experienced in the asylum must have been awful, and I do not want to remember the details," she continued.

I shivered almost imperceptibly, recalling the bone-chilling horror that had accompanied my experience in Alice's white-washed human past. I felt a twinge of empathy with her decision before it was overwhelmed by the excruciation of my own experience with memory loss in such a fashion.

"It is much better for my sanity not to know. I have been much more at ease since Carlisle took them from my mind," Alice hastily added, wanting desperately to change the subject. "I know that you are tormented by the hole he left in _your _mind," Alice acknowledged sympathetically, with a sincerely apologetic look, "…But I volunteered to have my memories erased and I do not regret it in the slightest," she affirmed resolutely, unwaveringly certain that she had made the right decision.

"Five years, Alice," I said caustically, cryptically—my words curling into a derisive sneer. "He took from me _five years_ that I can never get back and there is not a day that goes by that I am not driven over the edge wondering what is missing!" I hissed, gritting my razor-sharp teeth together viciously.

Alice looked taken aback—clearly this was news to her—and her round, black-lined eyes bulged in unbridled shock at this unexpected revelation before she suddenly found herself shifting her weight back and forth between her feet nervously. "I had no idea he took so much—he doesn't like to talk about it," she admitted softly. She dipped her head in a silent gesture of sorrow and of asking forgiveness for her unintentional offense before she abruptly straightened and hardened her complexion into an impenetrable façade of determination and confidence. "But I am perfectly content with my decision, regardless."

"He took from me only _five_ and I am maddened by the loss. And yet he took from you nearly twenty and you feel no pain over this?" I snapped, my words barbed with unresolved wrath. My vulnerable heart was guarded from my previous wound and my perspective on memory-modification had been forever scarred with centuries of festering betrayal.

"None at all. I am content," Alice avowed with the utmost sincerity. "Besides, if I ever wanted them back, all I would have to do is ask. He has the power to restore memories as well as destroy them," she reminded me with a tone of casual suggestion in her voice, as though requesting that I simply ask Carlisle to restore the lost memories and all would be well between us again.

"Ah… I am afraid I do not trust him enough to risk it," I sighed, revealing my deep skepticism and mistrust. "He might simply take more, rather than give back…"

"Carlisle has nothing to gain from stealing anymore of your memories," Alice responded flatly, clearly believing my acute paranoia towards the Cullen patriarch to be completely unfounded.

I frowned—certainly I understood from the many times I had entered his mind that his intentions had never been anything but pure, but even (ironically) the road to Hell was paved with good intentions.

"Oh, and how can you say that for certain?" I defended, my voice rising in great offense that Alice would dismiss my perfectly legitimate concerns so rapidly. "You and I have no idea why he even took those years from me in the first place!" I shouted irately, prodding myself in the chest to demonstrate the rationality of my fears.

"I only know that he has no intention of taking any more." Alice responded with a bit more venom than intended, in reaction to my raised voice. "It is not in any of the possible futures I see," she said somewhat calmer, breathing deeply to soothe her agitated nerves. "Restoration is in a few, though…" she hinted slyly.

"Is it?" I skeptically enquired—for during my brief tenure in her erratic mind I had witnessed no such thing. "Regardless, in order for that to happen, whatever is holding him back from telling me needs to be resolved, and neither of us have any idea what that is. Without knowing the reason my memories were taken away, I can give him no compelling reason to give them back." _If Carlisle took them away for a reason, then he will have to be convinced that whatever that reason is no longer matters before he will consent to return them, _I postulated._ And unless I know that reason, no amount of persuasion on his part is going to change Carlisle's mind—the man can be quite stubborn if he believes he has something to protect. _

"Would you trust him again if he did?" Alice asked hopefully, tilting her head slightly to the side to convey her interest in my response.

"I… I cannot say for certain," I admitted uneasily, my anxious fingers rubbing nervously at my wrist. "I have lived with the pain of his treachery for centuries. That will not simply evaporate if he is to restore those missing memories to me…"

"I guess you're right," she exhaled exasperatedly. "But if there were some way to be certain that he could only give back memories, and not take them away, would you consent to touch him?" Alice positioned them determinedly on her hips—there was no way I was capable of escaping from this one.

"That is impossible, Alice," I argued. I spread my arms wide to demonstrate that among the various things I could know about the man, that was not one of them I could ascertain without great personal risk. "I can never know—your assurances aside," I added quickly, upon seeing Alice's disapproving scowl. "Carlisle could always make a split-second decision in the heat of the moment, before you could perceive it, to damage me further."

"I guess that is true… but Carlisle is a genuinely nice person, Aro. You know this," Alice resolutely declared, audaciously jabbing me in the chest with an accusing index finger—an action which had me so completely stunned I felt no compulsion to correct it. "He has absolutely nothing to gain from erasing or altering any more of your memories!" she shrieked insistently, clearly fed up with my unwillingness to attempt to patch up his tarnished relationship with Carlisle.

"Until we know what he took from me we cannot say that!" I retorted sharply, finally swatting away her reproaching hand from my person, deflecting it by backhanding her fabric-encased wrist so that I was not unprepared for any accidental influx of memories. "He could have taken them just to make me miserable, for all I know…"

The room suddenly grew very quiet—it was a grave prospect to consider, the idea of my dearest friend turning on me for the sole purpose of vexing me for eternity.

"Carlisle would never do that," Alice placated softly after a few undisturbed moments of weighty silence. "He grieves over what he did to you every single day—it hurts him just as much as his betrayal hurt you, Aro. If you would give him a chance…"

"I do not know if I can do that, Alice," I interrupted to abort her dangerous train of thought. I feared her arguments would prove too persuasive and I might be inclined to give in, and take that momentous leap of faith that I dreaded more than almost anything else. "I want my memories back. I want our friendship back. But the risks… they are so great. Too great. I…" I choked on my last words, for they were far too painful to vocalize and I became suffused with an unfamiliar emotion—that of embarrassment and shame—as I realized that Carlisle's disloyalty cut me to the very core. And to admit that aloud was, in the eyes of many, to admit a severe weakness.

Thankfully, Alice did not seem to perceive my emotional turmoil over this matter as an indication that I was not fit to lead the Volturi—on the contrary, I could see in her bright, compassionate eyes that my unintended display of vulnerability with her thus far only served to increase her desire to be a part of my organization. My hurt made me more relatable, I supposed.

"What exactly did he do to you?" Alice asked gently, tentatively reaching out and splaying a comforting hand on my upper arm in a gesture of support, genuinely concern shining in her crimson irises. "This is more than just those years gone, isn't it?"

Another painful silence met Alice's words for which I inwardly berated myself, for it only served to confirm the veracity of her words—my hurt went much deeper than just a simple loss of memory, Carlisle's betrayal of my trust and the horrific things that could possibly imply had harrowed up my mind for centuries.

I finally sighed and decided to explain. "Carlisle had lived in Volterra for fifteen years, under a mutual agreement to never use our gifts maliciously against each other. Then, very suddenly, right after the birth of my daughter, my memories cease. I know, from the minds of my guard, that he stayed with us for an additional five before I threw him out, but their memories seem altered as well," I recalled, my voice straining with emotion, and my entire frame shaking with injured rage as I remembered the innocent face and warm golden eyes I had been greeted within mere seconds after the entirety of events from those five years were wiped from my mind. "Does that not strike you as terribly suspicious?"

"I didn't know the guard was effected too…" Alice admitted weakly.

"Ah, neither do they," I sorrowfully revealed. I was troubled by the notion that Carlisle had seen fit to effectively erase something important from the entire guard's memories during that time. "He altered their memories more subtly, so that those years are still there for them. But things have been changed—I am _certain_ of it," I declared authoritatively, my livid words dripping with foul suspicion. "Some of the details do not quite match up. And he's almost entirely absent from their experiences, even though he was clearly staying here at the castle. It makes me worried about what he was up to during those years is what he is hiding from me," I confessed, deciding there was nothing much to lose in telling Alice everything, since my vulnerability produced by this topic proved to be no issue with her.

And perhaps there was even something to be gained, as I had been afforded no confidants in this matter, and was aching to vent my pent up frustrations.

"When he went to alter my memories," I began, staring intently at my twiddling fingers as I revisited the fateful experience in my mind's eye, "...he panicked, realizing that I would know what he was doing through my gift, and instead of carefully altering a few things, he simply wiped the whole expanse from my mind." I finished with an angry toss of my hand which sent my heavy cape rustling tumultuously in the wrathful breeze, before I composed himself and spoke in a softer, graver tone. "He's hiding something from me, I know it—probably something big."

"And so that's why you kicked him out." Alice concluded aloud, her high voice indicating that she completely understood the decision, and would have probably responded in a similar manner, having been in my position.

"Yes. I could no longer trust him after that," I sighed. "Carlisle tends to use his powers when frightened or ashamed—and while I understand that his mind-wipe was partially accidental, it is obvious that he did not want me to remember something. And whatever that something is, he thinks it to be heinous and evil… I felt his fear and guilt when he touched me. He has done something awful…"

"You think that he's committed some kind of enormous crime?" The tone in Alice's placid voice indicated that she felt this was very unlikely, especially given Carlisle's hyper-active guilt complex.

"…Something he would see that way, at least," I conceded, alluding to the fact that perhaps Carlisle's "crime" was not so heinous after all. "But that's hardly reassuring. He may have an uncanny aversion to killing humans, but otherwise his morals are more or less consistent with my own… and if he did succumb to his hunger he would hardly need to hide that from me. He _must_ know I would never judge him harshly for it. I explicitly said as much numerous times…" My voice faded out absently, as I became lost in thought, remembering all the various instances when I had generously offered to feed Carlisle in the more "traditional" manner, despite the compassionate doctor's frequent protests. Venom threatened to fill my eyes as I submersed myself in the memory of the one time I had seen him fed properly—when I had brought him back from the stillness of death with thick, warm blood from my own lips. The image of his red eyes, flushed cheeks and mouth parted in the cry of delight when he was finished feeding that day was among the most beautiful things I had ever seen.

I longed—for Carlisle's sake—to see it again.

"…So logically he must have done something truly terrible..." I continued suddenly, snapping back to reality with a couple of forced blinks to rid my eyes of any accumulating fluids. "...Something I would think to be unforgiveable, in order for him to react that way—like adultery with or murder of one the members of my guard…"

"I honestly doubt it… that doesn't sound like Carlisle at all," Alice protested, and once again, she was absolutely correct in her assertions—having lived with the man for over a decade, I felt that I could say with a fair amount of certainty that such actions were entirely too diabolical for his saintly character to handle. But then again, that same character suggested that he would never maliciously alter my thoughts in the first place, so the oppressive cloud of doubt hung over me regardless.

"How can any of us say anything for sure about his true character, when all he does is alter our perceptions?" I countered aggrievedly. "I am fairly certain that he has not changed anything else since or before—based on the consistently identical accounts from my guard throughout his stay—but still…"

"I understand," Alice offered softly, patting my arm in an offering of solidarity. "It is difficult to trust that man at times."

"No, it is _impossible_." I stressed the last word poignantly. "I loathe that we must be apart, but I simply cannot endure the paranoia. It would drive me utterly mad." I shook my head in exasperation, silky ebony locks sailing in every direction as I did so. "Especially if my worst fears in regards to his deeds during those missing years are correct…"

"Carlisle would never kill an innocent vampire, no matter the situation. Nor would he violate his moral compunctions against extramarital sex. Especially not with anyone who is already married to another," Alice declared with the same firm certainty one would announce that the sun would rise tomorrow, and the day after that as it always had for hundreds of years—I supposed Carlisle was fairly reliable like that.

"…You are right," I agreed, chiding myself slightly for even entertaining any other possibility. "But what then? Why would he have me forget those years and feel so guilty about doing so if he is innocent?"

"You'll have to ask him, I guess," Alice suggested quietly, her wily eyes boring in mine as her tiny fingers stroked the luxurious fabric of my sleeve. "I was hoping you would agree to meet him in person soon."

My jaw unhinged at her pronouncement, my eyes threatened to dislodge from their sockets and had there been any blood left in my body, it surely would have drained completely from my face. _Was the woman before me serious? _

"…Dear Alice, I am far from prepared for that kind of reunion," I breathed fearfully, backing away from her touch and raising both hands in front of me in a protective, forbidding gesture to indicate just how unsafe and unwise such a venture would be at present.

"Aro, he needs your help," Alice implored with an unexpected insistence in her voice. "I am guessing you did not get a chance to see it…"

"See what, exactly, dear Alice?" I enquired bewilderedly—_what on earth could Alice have possibly seen that would indicate that Carlisle needed my help specifically?_ I wondered, baffled by her cryptic insinuation._ Had I not failed to convince him to abandon his deleterious ways? What could I possibly contribute further other than what I already had? Was it possible that Alice was referring to some other danger he was in that I was not aware of? Certainly Alice had warned him of the upcoming confrontation in Seattle, so he could be miles away, and it would not catch him unawares. _

"Here, let me show you," Alice announced, extending her perfectly manicured hand for me to take in mine cordially. "You won't believe me until you experience it."

I eyed her courteously presented hand skeptically, unwilling to believe that any revelation concerning the well-meaning doctor could be entirely unbelievable without tactile experience. But then again, I had been proven wrong in that regard once, so I decided I might as well see what she was talking about and decide for myself. Besides, the tiny glimpse of her memories I had caught earlier had only afforded minimal insights—this time, I wanted to make sure that I saw absolutely everything her captivating little mind had to offer.

Simultaneously thrilled and terrified of what I might see through her eyes, I wrapped the fingers of both my hands gently around hers and hunched slightly over the connected skin with my eyes firmly shut as I watched her life once again dance before my acute senses. As her lifetime of thoughts flooded my being, I deftly avoided the hollow portion of her memories that resided in her human past and sought information elsewhere in Alice's intricate, temporally jumbled psyche.

Much of what I found in the depths of her recollections was fascinating, giving profound insights into Alice's miraculous gift, the operation of Carlisle's coven, and of my own possible futures—but obviously not all of what I discovered was pleasant to endure. The painful thirst that wracked her/my being when she first awoke, disoriented and confused as a newborn vampire, was among these most undesirable moments. But although the experience was vastly uncomfortable, I was heartened to see Alice choose to dine heartily on human blood with little hesitation once she understood that _that_ was the substance she was craving. It gave me hope that perhaps Isabella's adjustment to our way of life need not be so difficult.

After releasing her very first moan of satiation, Alice seemed to come to her senses and stared guiltily at the bloodless body before her with a look of profound regret, contemplating the hopeful possibility that perhaps she might be able to obtain sustenance elsewhere. But it was in that precise moment that her innocent hopes for a sustainable alternative were dashed, for the fateful vision she had described to me in the throne room, explaining her crucial role in the survival of the vampire race, along with Isabella's mandatory presence in the confrontation danced before her awestruck eyes.

The initial vision was hazy, indistinct—most probably spurred on by the tentative decision of whoever was responsible for creating the army—and it seemed to imply that the Quileute shape-shifters would be involved in the fight, since the entirety of the action transpiring during the actual battle was shrouded from view. It was unfortunate that Alice's gift was limited in this fashion. But as her life progressed, it became clear that this was not a fault with her powers in of themselves, but simply a symptom of the fact that the decisions of the Quileute shapeshifters were never solid enough to make a prediction—they were unpredictable creatures who acted primarily in the heat of the moment, thus making their futures impossible to pin down. Similarly, it seemed that the Children of the Moon were difficult to see with this power of hers for the same reason—though her interactions with such monstrous beasts were limited, so it was difficult to tell how much of this shortcoming was intrinsic to their nature, and how much was simply due to lack of interaction.

The actions of witches were also difficult to foretell, but not for lack of planning—I knew from personal experience from working with Vitorrio that witches were meticulous planners who made most of their important decisions decades, if not centuries in advance. Rather, Alice's difficulty seeing the future's of witches was because their abilities allowed them to obstruct many non-physical powers, and they typically resented their privacy being violated in such a manner. As a result, it seemed that the aftermath of their decisions could be seen, but not the identity of the witch instigating them—which made counteracting their decisions very difficult. It also revealed that Alice's trust in Aria (despite her obviously ulterior motives) was an incredibly foolish leap of faith.

Certainly the witch had done nothing to directly threaten the lives of those she worked with—at least as far as I could tell—but there was no telling whether or not that would remain so, especially with Edward's increasing suicidality, and the others' mounting guilt. There was also the fact that I had deduced, from the various visions to whom there was attributed no instigator, that many witches intended severe future harm to vampirekind—a worrisome notion indeed. I could only assume that Alice had seen no other way besides through Aria to aid her family in keeping up their false human-friendly appearances, (they certainly weren't capable of achieving it themselves) and had decided to risk everything on the hopes of one day convincing Isabella to join us.

And although I considered that to be an extremely foolhardy action, for some unknowable reason Isabella's participation in the fight was crucial for our long-term survival. And because of that, it was a necessary risk she had to take.

Ultimately, it was frustrating to see that Alice's visions served to reveal little more than her pronouncements in the throne room had. But to see the possible devastation for myself was morbidly motivational at least—Caius, broken and half-ashen at my feet, Jane blasted all over the city in innumerable parts from a direct hit by a tactical missile, Marcus greeting death with a blissful smile, Heidi shrieking as her head was torn violently from her shoulders, and many others in various states of decimation amid the burning rubble that once was the famed Emerald City. All of this bolstered my desire to train Isabella as thoroughly in her talent as possible, so that somehow—it was unfortunate that the details were so lacking—she might provide the key to saving the vampire race.

Realizing that after our defeat, that humankind would utterly destroy our stronghold in Volterra, and my dear wife and precious daughters would not be spared from the explosion, infused me with a violent, unstoppable rage—_no one_ would hurt my family.

I would make sure of it.

More years filtered past my perception—which I knew occurred in less than seconds in real time, despite the fact that the experiences themselves seemed to come to me at the same pace at which Alice had originally received them—and I fought the urge to squirm as reoccurring amorous encounters with a certain Jasper Whitlock invaded my senses—especially as I had no desire to discover all the _unusual_ ways Jasper's unique gift could be utilized in the bedroom. But alas, it seemed there was no avoiding them—the two were far from insatiable, as it was rumored that her kin Emmett and Rosalie were, but they certainly enjoyed a passionate relationship nonetheless. It would be difficult for Alice to remain separated from her mate for long, that was sure. But it was also equally certain from her memories that although he had agreed to accompany her when she joined the Volturi, he was not enthused about the prospect of returning to his former diet. Taking human lives whilst their fear and pain was his own was traumatizing—I knew of that inescapable truth all too well—but it was necessary. And I hoped when he arrived that I could successfully convince him of that.

Perhaps I could even convince him to fight alongside us—his powers might prove useful if he consented to restore his body to its full strength.

But just as I was beginning to solidify my plans to persuade the war-seasoned vampire into joining the guard with his mate, I finally began to experience the memories that Alice's present mind seemed to be alluding to—those pertaining to Carlisle which she had told me moments ago defied all description. As her eyes searched out the kindly man as she flitted anxiously about a busy hospital wing sometime in the 1960s I decided to sever all connection (no matter how tenuous) with my own physical body and fully immerse myself in her experience. I wanted to know precisely why she believed this memory was so important, and so I could not afford any distractions.


	23. Chapter 22: Doctor Jekyll

**AN: What kind of trouble has poor Carlisle gotten himself into now? Will Alice convince Aro to meet with him again, even if it means risking his own sanity? What other secrets might Alice be hiding? Find out in this next episode... err... chapter of the Luxury of Mercy!**

**Okay, now that my sappy TV intro is out of the way, without further ado I give you this 1960s memory from Alice! **

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Doctor Jekyll**

The hospital wing I found myself in was dimly lit, dilapidated and bustling with doctors as a young man in his early twenties was rushed down the long linoleum hallway on a stretcher, his body riddled with deep, bloody gashes and his eyes glazed over with shock as he was rushed into emergency surgery. The blood issuing liberally from his wounds was fresh, wafting a delicious aroma towards my sensitive nose and causing thick, viscous venom to pool excitedly on my tongue. But although my body was weak with a combination of old bagged human blood and the blood of various animals, I swallowed my potent saliva and held my ground, determined not to make a scene and possibly ruin Carlisle's career. Though I could not fathom how he could stand to be around so much of the tantalizing substance on a daily basis, I respected his wishes to aid humankind and only interrupted him at work when it was absolutely imperative.

Now was one of those times—Edward was determined to kill himself once again, and irritatingly had waited until Carlisle was quite absorbed in his work to work out the particulars so that I would have to interrupt him at work if I wanted him to stop him. I briefly considered the option of trying to stop Edward alone, but bizarrely enough, when Carlisle rescued him, Edward seemed to avoid making any further suicide attempts for a longer period of time then when I did. Despite the younger vampire's mistrust of Carlisle's powers, and his total unwillingness to agree that his immortality was a gift rather than a terrible curse, he still harbored a certain degree of respect for his coven leader, and felt guilty for trying to overrule his wishes.

Of course, his mistrust of myself, given my eventual intention to join the Volturi guard, was much greater, and he felt absolutely no obligation to follow my decrees.

So here I was, nervously wandering under the flickering lights searching avidly for Carlisle so that he might put a stop to Edward before his plan was enacted this afternoon. It was still fairly early in the day, so we had quite a bit of time before we needed to act, but I was vastly uncomfortable with the idea of staying within these grimy halls any longer than necessary, because this place reeked of blood—lots of blood. And if the way my mouth refused to stop watering at the scent and sight of it was any indication, I needed to leave as soon as possible before my predatory instincts got the better of me.

As I paced through the rooms at an agonizingly human pace, so as to not alert the injured patients or their exhausted caretakers of my true nature, I wrinkled my nose at the foul smells that jarringly accompanied the sweet ambrosia which permeated the air. Infection, excrement, disease and death hung heavy in the atmosphere—which I found highly disconcerting in an environment that was supposed to be therapeutic to one's health. I understood that the community was poor and therefore could not afford to build a nicer, newer hospital, but the state of affairs in the current one was far from sanitary. And though I knew Carlisle made his best attempts to clean his workspace and his instruments, I swore a human could fall ill by simply looking at the place.

Not to mention that I caught one of the doctors not washing his hands between patients.

I shook my head in exasperation—no wonder humans fell sick so easily.

When I passed by the door of some unfortunate, elderly woman who was being told by a completely unsympathetic doctor that her insurance was not sufficient to cover her care, I finally heard the smooth syllables of Carlisle's lulling voice. Their crystalline purity stood in stark contrast with the muddy mumbling of everyone else here, as he comforted a young woman who was rapidly dying from cancer.

Thrilled by the notion of escaping this veritable hell-hole of a hospital, I skipped happily over to the room he stood in, and waited politely for him to finish easing the passing of this unsalvageable human being. When Carlisle had recorded the time of her death, covered her inert body with a sheet and began purposefully striding towards the door so that he might tend to another patient, I quickly stepped into the room, stopping him dead in his tracks.

"Alice, what are you doing here!?" Carlisle hissed in a terse whisper, glancing anxiously towards the door, as if to say—_this is no place for a vampire who has anything less than impeccable control. _"You need to leave, immediately. I have work to do," he demanded sourly, scratching something illegible on his clipboard before strolling rapidly towards the door.

"Carlisle, its Edward," I quickly explained, putting up both hands to halt his movement, hoping to convince him that the matter was urgent enough to follow me out of here.

"Edward… is he…?" Carlisle really didn't need to admit it aloud—I knew exactly to what he was referring, and so I hurriedly nodded.

Carlisle's eyes flickered anxiously between mine and the room's derelict entrance door, clearly torn between his work and the welfare of his suicidal son—obviously his surrogate family won out in the end, but there was a dark grimace on his face as he agreed to accompany me back to our abode in the forest. Clearly, he did not appreciate being forced to choose between his career and keeping Edward alive, and I occasionally wondered if the compassionate vampire would allow Edward to achieve his desired ends if I had not assured him that the angsty teen's survival was essential in the larger scheme of things. Given his naturally compassionate nature, Carlisle probably still would endeavor to protect Edward from himself, but I could not be certain—and I knew that without my help, he would have already failed many, many times.

Just as we were making our escape, jogging as quickly as we could without seeming inhuman towards a flickering hospital exit sign, however, one of Carlisle's coworkers, a man in his late-thirties with greasy russet-colored hair seized Carlisle roughly by the collar of his white doctor coat and said with a raspy, acrid voice, "Jus' where do yah think you're goin', hmm?"

Carlisle slowly turned around, fluidly dusting the man's hand from his person, and responded coolly, "We are having a family emergency, I am afraid I must leave immediately."

"Family 'mergency, huh?" the man responded skeptically, looking myself over with a suspicious glint in his dull grey eyes. "She don't look like family to me. Much too old ter be yer daughter." The man's lips spread wide in a leering, dirty, snaggletooth smile, as if his statement gave him license to consider me a potential bedfellow. I struggled not to shudder at the thought—the man was revolting—and of course Jasper was the only one for me.

"Alice is adopted," Carlisle retorted succinctly, his tone growing more irate as he noticed the lurid way the man was evidently ogling me. "And we are needed at home _now_."

The man raised a sparse red eyebrow in a suggestive manner, as though he suspected we were racing off for illicit reasons rather than our stated purpose, and swiftly turned to call for another doctor to confirm Carlisle's story. As Carlisle rapidly conversed with the other physician, whispering to her the delicate truth—minus the fact that Edward and the rest of us were all actually vampires, of course—suddenly, a woman who really ought to be placed in a psyche ward, rather than a hospital, made the split-second decision to hurl a thin scalpel with surprising precision directly at Carlisle's face.

I understood that the sharp instrument posed no real threat—it would simply bounce off his impenetrable skin. But figuring that such a scene would appear terribly suspicious to the surrounding humans, I decided to use my superior reflexes to deflect it easily out of its path.

While the shiny object was spiraling rapidly away from us, initially I was pleased with this development, as no one had seen my supernaturally quick flick of the wrist that had knocked the wind current enough to disrupt the scalpel's trajectory, and it seemed as though a potential crisis had been skillfully averted. But unfortunately, in my single-minded focus on knocking the scalpel out of its original path, my movements were rather carelessness, and did not take into account the unplanned movements of the belligerent russet-haired doctor. He spun around to argue with the contents of Carlisle's whispered conversation, unknowingly twisting his body into the exact wrong position at the exact wrong time...

...and so I accidentally ended up diverting the flung scalpel harshly into his neck.

_Whoops. _

As the thin blade sliced effortlessly through skin, veins, and muscle, I gasped in horror, watching helplessly as ghastly visions of the possible aftermaths of this gory accident overcame my senses—none of them looked good. The man would almost certainly not survive this injury, and it appeared that there was a great likelihood that the hole being carved into his neck at this very moment could produce a frothing fountain of blood which would entice me to feed, despite the rather large audience which would be present by the time I succumbed to my urges.

If that were to happen I would be forced, by Volturi law to slaughter the witnesses, and since I loathed the concept of so much decent sustenance going to waste, I would probably use the equipment here to bag whatever I could before completely torching the place and hopefully convince Jasper to drink it while it was still fairly fresh to temporarily restore his strength.

I also saw that Carlisle's instincts would be at war—though in a slightly different way: through centuries of rigorous practice and help from his gift, he had retrained his first instinct when he saw human blood to be one of compassion and assistance, but my presence here would place him in a dire conflict. Was it more important to leap to the man's aid, or to rush me out of here as swiftly as possible? Carlisle wasn't sure—and so my visions flitted back and forth between the options.

I was somewhat heartened as the blade sunk steadily deeper into the man's skin, and Carlisle was wracked with indecision, to see that there was at least one possible future wherein the doctor survived this unfortunate ordeal, and no other humans were harmed (accidentally or on purpose) by myself today. But the influx of warm optimism that this one, rare chance provided was immediately snuffed out when a series of ghastly images followed it—another, quite rare, but frighteningly grisly future, I surmised.

In this future, bodies were strewn left and right indiscriminately throughout the hallway Carlisle and I now occupied with throats torn savagely open and skin whiter than their grimy doctor's coats, each of which stared blankly with petrified expressions of terror at the rotting ceiling. Thick droplets of fresh human blood sparsely littered their clothes and the floor—except for the sizable puddle that the grey-eyed doctor had produced towards the end of the hall, and the one wide arc sprayed across the adjacent wall. Two thus-far-unharmed people cowered behind a stretcher, struggling to stay silent as unbidden tears streaked over their ashen cheeks in response to the horrifying scene. Their hearts thundered wildly in their fragile chests as a blurry figure dashed into sight, prepared to pounce.

I harshly blinked away the vision, unwilling to watch anymore, and was thoroughly jolted back into the present by a wet choking sound issuing from the wounded doctor's lips as the lobbed scalpel finished firmly lodging itself in the russet-haired doctor's flimsy tissues. The cool metal blade had ceased moving effortlessly through his buttery skin only moments after the initial impact, but those nanoseconds had felt like hours as my powers had kicked in and shown me, in a flash, a myriad of possible outcomes which could result from my reckless mistake. As the man rapidly crumpled to the floor, grasping at the object deeply penetrating his skin, I abruptly held my breath—hoping with every ounce of willpower that I possessed that I might be able to achieve that one, elusive, deathless future by being sufficiently prepared for what was to come.

Fractions of a second after I had tightly sealed off my air passages, thick jets of hot blood sprayed violently in every direction, coating the wriggling doctor's clothes, the wall, and the floor in the tempting substance as he twitched in obvious agony, struggling to remove the metal buried in his jugular vein. Content with the level of my self-control in the absence of my acute sense of smell, I watched placidly as three doctors paused in their work, emerging cautiously from their respective rooms to observe the commotion before bolting forward towards the pitifully thrashing man in an attempt to calm him and stop the copious bleeding before it caused him to perish. I fully expected Carlisle to dive in among them and offer his assistance. But he merely stood stock-still a few paces behind me, witnessing the dramatic events unfold around him with an unreadable expression—still clearly vacillating between his roles as a "human" doctor and a vampire "father".

I attempted—as well as I could without breathing—to indicate to Carlisle that currently I was fine and thus he was free to do as his unusual instincts compelled and leap to the russet-haired man's assistance, but unfortunately all my wild gesturing and head bobbing only served to perplex him further. And so, although he received a few dirty looks from the trio of doctors kneeling in front of him in ardent care of the fiercely bleeding man, Carlisle remained precisely where he was, surveying the scene with a frazzled look of trepidation, even as a few more doctors rushed onto the scene and threw themselves heartily into the work of preserving their coworker's quickly dwindling life.

"Don't yank on it!" One of the doctors advised their screaming peer as he gripped the deeply lodged scalpel tenaciously and repeatedly tugged away at the offending weapon with an insistent and brazen force.

"It stings! I have to get it out!" he protested, and therefore resisted their advice, proceeding to wrench the deeply embedded scalpel violently out of his damaged tissues, which sent another stream of blood sailing forth from the open wound…

…only to splatter all over Carlisle.

Noticing how heavily saturated in the hot, sticky fluid he now was, everyone in the room froze, including myself, and stared intently at him, waiting for some kind of reaction to this highly disturbing turn of events.

At first, he simply seemed stunned to be suddenly dripping with human blood—as though it were merely unexpected, and somewhat unpleasant, given the fact that it would almost certainly stain. But then Carlisle noticed that the violent scene before us had amassed a nervous audience of patients and doctors, totaling some fifteen people who were anxiously watching the grey-eyed doctor bleed out horrifically, their weak mortal hearts hammering away rapidly. And when he opened his mouth to address them, suddenly his mood rapidly shifted.

As Carlisle inhaled the necessary amount of air to speak, the heavy, intoxicating scent of blood covering his body reached his sensitive nose, and he abruptly staggered backwards, overwhelmed by his dizzying desire to drink. Images of Carlisle savagely sinking his teeth into the poor, dying man as he considered the tantalizing possibility, or of him darting with inhuman speed in the opposite direction to prevent it flashed before my eyes.

And before he could make a firm decision either way, I seized his sleeve tightly and proceeded to drag him forcibly away from the scene without a word, to prevent him from doing anything he might regret.

Initially, Carlisle seemed to follow my lead with absolutely no hesitation or objection. But as the injured physician's heart began slowing to a stop, he gurgled out the words, "…adopting a daughter jus' so he can bang her… can't believe that man…" clearly assuming that Carlisle had "adopted" me for no other purpose than for carnal pleasure, as it was beyond the human's capacity to understand Dr. Cullen's genuine altruism.

The remark really was meaningless to me—men made all sorts of erroneous assumptions and decisions based on our appearances every day. But the insinuation of depravity positively infuriated Carlisle, who summarily spun back to face the man, his expression lethally livid.

Though his original intent was merely to issue a barbed retort before we continued on our way, again as he hastily parted his lips to bark out some acrid turn of phrase, the scent of the man's blood—which was now dribbling viscously from Carlisle's own coat sleeves onto his fingers—utterly consumed his faculties once again. Typically, in such instances, Carlisle's memory-modification powers would subconsciously kick into overdrive and re-write his insurmountable thirst second by second into some other kind of bearable trauma, so that he might escape the call of his instincts. But as I saw through my gift his subconscious decision to enact this power, I wanted to scream as something within him unpredictably snapped, violently, and his abilities proved completely incapable of holding back the enormous tidal wave of some unnumbered years' worth of unsatisfied thirst which abruptly washed over him.

Valiantly, Carlisle struggled for several seemingly-eternal moments to resist the maddening urges that were clearly filling his mind, unadulterated by the interference of his supernatural talent. But eventually, the pain became too much, the instincts too strong, the call for carnage left unsated for too long…

…And Carlisle gave in.

"CARLISLE, NO!" I shouted in desperation as the ghastly vision of this hospital wing littered with corpses once again arrested my senses—that was our future if he chose this.

But before I could do anything to stop him, without so much as a word, Carlisle flitted to where the man lay in a sizable puddle of his own blood and furiously hoisted him by his trickling neck. He slammed the human's body angrily with one arm up against the adjacent wall, which was streaked a violent scarlet by the action and cracked under the herculean pressure. Livid amber eyes glared at the whimpering doctor with a murderous intensity, and gritted, razor-sharp teeth gleamed with the all-too-familiar sheen of fresh venom, as Carlisle stared the man down. The grey-eyed doctor wrestled impotently against Carlisle's unbreakable grasp on his neck, and tried to miserably squeak out an apology for his crude assessment of the situation, which only resulted in Carlisle's grip growing progressively tighter. I could see from the jagged, tense way he comported himself that Carlisle was completely lost in the savage haze that occasionally had crept over me when I was ravenously thirsty—and I knew from experience, and seeing the ten-fold manifestation of that state in Carlisle—that mercy was impossible at this point.

Even towards me—I saw clearly in my mind's eye that if I were to try and intervene now, I would only be ferociously knocked out of the way.

So I could only stand and watch with morbid fascination as the one horrifying scene I thought I would never have the opportunity to witness unfolded before my very eyes.

Ignoring the fearstricken stares of his cowering human coworkers, Carlisle speedily dipped his head into the crook of the man's slippery neck and lapped with his rough pink tongue at the rivulets of fresh blood still trickling from the man's cavernous wound, the venom from his teeth flowing over his chin to mingle with the substance. The man whimpered and shook as Carlisle continued to lick his injury, but curiously as his watery venom slipped beneath the human's skin he made no additional, extraordinary protests, as was typical of vampire victims.

Of course, I couldn't be sure if he simply lacked the energy to do so, as moments later his lack of blood finally caused him to lose consciousness, and thus he was unintentionally spared from the pain as Carlisle brutally sank his teeth into the man's flesh in order to obtain the remainder of the sweet nectar his mortal body produced.

As the russet-haired doctor went eerily limp in his vampiric coworker's arms, I noticed most of the other physicians and patients who had gathered along the dingy plaster walls cringed and began to slowly inch away in uncomprehending fear. A few seemed, from their facial expressions, to be familiar with the legends, but the idea of an actual vampire existing was patently absurd and I could also tell that they were struggling within themselves to come to any other possible conclusion.

But as Carlisle drew away from his now bloodless prey, his stagnant heart fluttering to life for a single beat to spread the recently acquired nutrients throughout his body, and his head tilted backwards involuntarily as he released a loud, reverberating moan of pleasure—a sound so primal and unbridled it tingled in my bones—the evidence of his true nature swiftly became undeniable. His cheeks were flushed and his lips and chin darkly stained with the evidence of his most recent meal, and though he did not possess the folkloric fangs, nor cower at the sight of crosses (quite the contrary) it was obvious, really, that as much as he tried to avoid it, Carlisle Cullen was a man-eating predator.

A boisterous cacophony of terror rang out from the surrounding crowd as Carlisle absently released the lifeless form of his former coworker while his body was still arched in ecstasy. The scarlet-covered man flopped limply unto the ground, splashing back into the puddle of his own blood he had created earlier and people scattered in every direction, swiftly seeking whatever form of refuge they could—whether by ensconcing themselves in the nearest hospital room, diving behind the closest stretcher or darting haphazardly towards the exit.

I was just about to dash in front of the man drawing closest to escaping the building with forbidden knowledge, when, to my surprise, Carlisle flitted past me with lightning-fast speed. To the poor patient who was frantically attempting to reach the exit doors at the end of the hallway, it probably appeared that Carlisle had simply teleported in front of him, and quite understandably, as he looked up into Carlisle's vulturine eyes the man wet himself with fear.

Without a single second's hesitation, Carlisle seized the quivering patient in an iron grip by his shoulders and tore viciously into his throat, still evidently consumed by his maddening thirst and unable to enact his powers' assistance—which surprised me given his rather recent meal. Certainly, much of it had been wasted on the filthy floor, but still, I had not anticipated Carlisle to be so ravenous as to attack two men without the slightest tremor of remorse—I had expected his conscience to reassert itself quite dramatically after his first kill.

But as Carlisle voraciously consumed his second course, sucking ardently at the deep gash he had inflicted in the patient's neck until there was nothing left, and once again he was overwhelmed with the heady sensation of satisfaction which rewarded his gruesome efforts, I quickly realized that Carlisle had been spared from the searing call of his natural instincts for far too long. And he wasn't going to resemble the compassionate doctor I knew in the slightest for a while longer.

As he callously dropped his second victim and darted savagely after a person running as swiftly as they could toward the opposite exit, I noticed that his eyes were barely yellow-orange—not the bright crimson that revealed a fully-sated vampire, or even the saffron color I allowed Jasper to aim for with his mixed diet (at least until the elusive "Bella" showed up)—which was highly disconcerting. I knew that every five years or so it was necessary to supplement _my_ diet with a planned, fresh meal of the traditional variety so that I didn't lash out publicly. But I had always assumed this was because I insisted on relying only on my own willpower (which was fairly robust as far as vampires went) and thus did not reap the benefits of being under a thirst-suppression spell (which extended that period to roughly a decade or so for most vampires, though Edward struggled more frequently) or Carlisle's own memory modification which had hitherto seemed infallible.

Now, as I watched him roughly grab his third victim and bite a huge chunk out of the skin around her collarbone before proceeding to avidly guzzle the ensuing fluid, I realized that my initial assumption of the permanency of Carlisle's unhealthy arrangement was erroneous. That he too, like the rest of us, would have a pattern of "slip-ups" when his instincts eventually overrode the strength of his powers.

The only questions that remained were how severe and how frequent were they, so that when Bella did arrive (it was frustrating that I had no idea when she might show up, or else we could simply dine healthily until a few months before her arrival), we could plan around them, as I had already decided to do for the others. If, as it was beginning to seem, Carlisle's "slip-ups" consisted of the wholesale slaughter of everyone in sight, that would prove very difficult to work with.

Of course, having watched him from a distance since my creation and never once seen him return home with red eyes—which I figured he would feed until he obtained in these instances—I knew that he had to be able to maintain his lifestyle for at least forty years. But how much longer than that he could go, I honestly had no idea. These violent "episodes" could be as recurrent as once every four decades, or as isolated as this single incident. And as I contemplated which I believed to be the most likely possibility, I realized that with Carlisle's powers, it was entirely possible that he had absolutely no idea either.

Carlisle had always given the impression that he had never succumbed to the siren call of human blood. However today's behavior—as he threw down a shrieking old woman and dove for her jugular with a feral grace—spoke of previous experience. And knowing of his hyperactive conscience, he could have simply unwittingly made himself forget.

I shuddered at the thought—Carlisle could have killed countless people in bouts of uncontrollable thirst like this and simply have no recollection of it.

Such was his power.

…

I realized that Carlisle must have been ravenous for having been so diligent in his diet. But I really hadn't expected him to single-handedly consume every doctor and patient who had crossed his path thus far, totaling approximately sixteen or seventeen people, and I had begun to wonder if he would ever stop—for while there was a morbid upside in that we would not have to worry about any remaining witnesses, I certainly could not afford to let him continue to drink indefinitely. Eventually, he would have to stop, or be stopped.

The dilapidated hospital wing looked precisely like it had in my most pessimistic vision of our future here—the bloodless bodies of various patients and doctors had been dropped, tossed or flung haphazardly throughout the long hallway the way a petulant child might dispose of unwanted candy wrappers. Some were congregated in small piles where a group had huddled together in fear. But most were solitary near the windows or the doors at each end of the long hallway, where they had futilely attempted to escape, and now lied contorted into a pitiful display of weakness and terror, gazing emptily upwards, as if petitioning the heavens to receive their weary souls. The grubby walls and linoleum floors positively reeked of blood since a small spattering of droplets had been sprayed this way and that with every neck that Carlisle had ruthlessly torn into, and notable pool remained on the floor from where his first victim had originally been injured.

I might have been tempted to try and lick some of it up, if the surface upon which it now rested didn't carry the heavy stench of other human bodily fluids which I had absolutely no desire to taste.

The only thing which was missing from the initial vision were the pair of mortals failing to disguise their presence behind a stretcher before a vampire—I had not bothered to watch who, since I had assumed it would be myself—leapt over their pathetic fortress and dealt with them. Not a single human was anywhere to be found, or heard except the faint beating of single dying heart as Carlisle gently savored the taste of a limp young woman's blood several yards away towards the end of the hallway. Bizarrely the thin little girl didn't even so much as twitch in his arms, accepting her fate with an unnerving serenity as though Carlisle's lethal attentions to her jugular vein were no more painful than a neck massage, and his venom possessing about as much fire as Aloe Vera. Her unnatural tranquility whilst perishing at the hands of her natural predator unsettled me, and I was actually somewhat relieved to see the soft smile slip from her face as Carlisle drew his dripping teeth away from her dusky skin, and gave one final cry of unadulterated bliss.

But as his last victim slipped unceremoniously from his pleasure-dazed fingers into a ungainly heap his feet, Carlisle suddenly paused in his insatiable feeding spree. My golden eyes widened incredulously as I watched him seem to come to his senses, gasping in terrified disbelief as he looked down at his blood-soaked coat and the pale dead body before him as though he had no conception whatsoever as to how they had gotten there.

Clearly freaked out by what he was seeing, his brilliant crimson eyes quickly flitted from wall to wall, searching out the grisly scene of scattered human corpses lying before him with a desperate look of bewildered horror. As his panicked gaze settled on me, the mounting tension in his tall frame seemed to ease up ever so slightly, and before I knew it he was striding rapidly, purposefully in my direction—casting confused, scared glances over his shoulder every so often as though hoping to discover the source of all this carnage.

"Alice, what on earth happened! Did you do this?" He asked frenetically, gesturing broadly to the blatant evidence of vampiric violence spread viciously throughout the entire dirty corridor. He seemed totally unaware of the hot flush of fresh human blood lingering in his cheeks, the droplet leaking slowly from the corner of his mouth, or the sweet, coppery taste probably still clinging to his tongue which gave him away as the culprit.

"I told you to never interrupt me at work!" He practically bellowed, evidently furious with me for the massacre of his patients and coworkers which he had committed himself.

I was stunned—_Carlisle thought that I had single-handedly consumed an entire hospital hallway full of people? Had he really forgotten his own actions so quickly? And if so, what on earth had he replaced those memories with?_

"Alice! This is _serious_! If you must stay with us then I insist that—"

"Carlisle, I didn't do this," I swiftly interrupted him, directing both of my index fingers pointedly at my dull topaz irises which attested to the fact that I had not participated in the slightest in Carlisle's frenzied feast. My perfectly porcelain cheeks stood as witnesses as well—though they were much more easily faked as anything placed in the eye would melt away rather too quickly to be practical in the long-term.

Carlisle paused for a moment mid-rant as he noted the validity of my claim—my unfed appearance was rather compelling—before he hesitantly proceeded to ask the pivotal question. "…If it was not you then who is responsible for this?" Carlisle enquired in a grave tone as he swept a single, bloodied hand in a wide arc to symbolize the entire, violent mess which lied before us. His eyebrows furrowed gradually with increasing concern as he mulled over the remaining possibilities in his mind.

Seeing his growing distress, I tried to explain the reality of the situation as delicately as I could by simply producing a small compact mirror from my purse and holding it out in front of Carlisle so that his bright, ruby-red eyes were clearly reflected in the pristine glass. At first, the blond doctor squinted uncertainly at the surface presented to him, as though expecting to see a different hue from another angle. But as it gradually began to dawn on him that the rich scarlet reproduced there was an accurate depiction of his iris' actual color, rather than merely a trick of the flickering lights, his incriminating eyes widened dramatically in utter shock, and both of his hands flew upwards to cover his mouth.

After a few moments of heart-wrenching silence as Carlisle appeared to recall his savage slaughtering of everyone else present excepting myself, he suddenly doubled over and began violently retching, coughing up wet, sticky globs of half-digested blood into his trembling fingers as he vainly tried to prevent the life-giving liquid from escaping his lips. This unexpected bout of guilt-induced nausea was not something I had been prepared for. But in my determination to not let today's human sacrifices be in vain, I quickly dropped to my knees beside Carlisle and forcibly yanked his head backwards so that any blood he attempted to cough up would only go straight back down again until he abruptly ceased attempting to empty his stomach and embarrassedly swatted my restraining hands away from his person.

He swallowed whatever acrid combination of blood and bile was left in his throat heartily before he dipped his head ashamedly and offered a quivering apology. "I am sorry… for… that, Alice. I…" he trailed off, unsure as to how to thank someone for helping them not waste the fruit of their recent murders—especially when he clearly felt so much remorse towards them that it made him physically sick.

I tenderly patted him on the shoulder—there was nothing to apologize for in my eyes. Certainly I hadn't expected him to go on a wild feeding spree. But other than the fact that we would have to discover an efficient method of getting rid of the bodies quickly before any legal authorities arrived on the scene, and our coven would be forced to move yet again, I had no issues with the ramifications of Carlisle's thirsty actions. Having no memory of my human life, human death didn't really phase me—but it certainly had a profoundly different effect on the Cullen patriarch. And so I hoped that my gesture of acceptance would be taken to mean that I supported him, not that I was congratulating him for having downed the largest all-you-can-eat buffet I had ever seen a vampire imbibe in a single day.

Though that had certainly been morbidly impressive—in the same sort of way that watching a ninja strike multiple opponents dead with a single kick was impressive.

"I have failed…" Carlisle breathed out in utter despair, as though his unlife's entire purpose had been shattered instantaneously upon his discovery that he was in fact the one responsible for such a copious amount of human slaughter. "I promised myself that I would never again…" he began solemnly before he suddenly shook his head vigorously back and forth as if to banish the accompanying memories from his mind.

But I hadn't missed what he had said. "Never again?"

Carlisle flinched as though my words had physically pricked his heart, and once again he bowed his head ever so slightly in humiliation as he nervously explained his errant comment. "This is not the first time… After you showed me my eyes, I remembered," he confessed sorrowfully.

I had somewhat expected this, but I still couldn't help the way my delicate black eyebrows practically shot off my forehead at Carlisle's timid admission of repeat offense. "How… How many…?" I weakly probed, trying not to wound him with insensitive questions, while still gaining the information necessary to plan for future contingencies, as "slip ups" were not decisions one made in advance, and therefore difficult for me to predict and prepare for if I was not aware of their general pattern.

Carlisle directed a melancholy gaze at the water-damaged ceiling as he reviewed the instances in his mind with glossy-eyes and a trembling lower lip. "…Every fifty to fifty-five years, it seems I get the overwhelming urge to drink human blood… though I usually recognize it and find a deathless alternative. I have only allowed myself to... _lapse_ like this once before..." he revealed. His normally stable voice cracked with emotion as he revisited the traumatizing resurfacing memories of both times he had erred. He had buried the earlier instance beneath the comforting lies his gift allowed him to spin within his own mind for many decades.

"…Oh my…" He gasped—a heartrending sound like an angel suffocating—and looked miserably down at his blood-spattered hands, "…I have killed so many…"

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Carlisle had killed what, thirty people? In over three hundred years? That was an _amazing _track record.

He turned to look at me, his wide, grief-stricken eyes so saturated with trapped venom-tears they were nearly white. "Alice, I am a _monster_…"

"Carlisle, you are _not_ a monster," I stated firmly. "This is just more proof that animal blood is not your intended food source. Plus, didn't you say that you haven't considered drinking human blood in the orthodox manner to be a sin for a while now?" I asked softly, confused by the apparent conflict between Carlisle's initial words to Jasper and I and his own unhealthy aversion to his natural source of nutrients.

"…I did say that… yes…" Carlisle admitted shakily. "But that does nothing to change my compassion for other people… to end an intelligent, caring life, for food… is something that I cannot do…" He ran an agitated palm through his lustrous platinum locks, which looked brighter and livelier than usual—probably as a result of his recent indulgence—and gazed absently off into the distance.

Worried that he might cause himself to forget again and would not remember that events like this were reoccurring, I interceded. "Carlisle, you have to remember this—to remember that you cannot keep drinking animal blood forever."

"Alice… I cannot…" Carlisle confessed with a heavy sigh, a defeated slump of his shoulders, and sorrowful red eyes still heavily glistening with venom. "How can I hold on to this memory when it hurts so much?" he asked, pressing his right palm flat against his blood-saturated chest to demonstrate the depth of his agony over what he had just done. "You must remember for me. I cannot live with myself knowing that everything I have worked for is vain…"

"Not all of it is," I countered swiftly, tactfully, attempting with my cheerful demeanor to drag Carlisle out of his guilt-induced self-loathing. "If you ever are successful in making a viable substitute, you could save a lot of lives."

Carlisle spread his arms in a gesture of defeat. "And if I fail there as well?"

I nervously tucked a loose, choppy hair behind my ear—there really was nothing I could say to that one.

But during the awkward silence which followed his loaded question, my acute ears picked up on an eerily familiar sound—the sound of two frantic human heartbeats hammering away not too far from here. Carlisle heard the sound too, and he abruptly rose to his feet after I leapt to mine and tried to protest that I should leave them be. Until we realized that their owners had settled only a few yards away from us, tucked tightly against a grimy beige wall behind a rusty stretcher, and were making their best attempt at hiding from our sight. Obviously, from their position, they would have seen and heard our conversation, and thus were in possession of a knowledge of the supernatural world which was forbidden to those who were not expressly a part of it, or who were scheduled to perish quickly. And although Carlisle possessed a power which could theoretically allow him to spare them, we both agreed that leaving the pair as raving amnesiacs was a bad idea as it would draw a lot of suspicion towards the incident. And similarly coming up with an adequate excuse for their insurmountable terror and loss would prove too difficult when Carlisle was under so much emotional stress—his powers worked best on others when he was calm.

Which only left one option—the witnesses had to die.

Realizing that to counteract my decision was to go against Volturi law, Carlisle ashamedly turned the other way and affixed his eyes steadfastly upon a broken light fixture hanging limply in front of the opposite wall, while I rapidly dashed over to where the unfortunate witnesses cowered. I cleared their insufficient barricade in a single bound, and decided, in response to the aggressive primal instincts Carlisle's behaviors had awakened in me, to make them both into my lunch. A chorus of shrill screams escaped their mouths as I bit harshly into one and blocked the other's escape with a hearty kick in the ribs, which caused Carlisle's shoulders to prickle in moral discomfort. But as I eagerly slurped away at the hot, delicious liquid which gushed forth from my first victim's neck, he made no audible sounds of protest and merely stood silently as I finished, arched back gasping, and proceeded with the second course.

When I was done and had licked away the dark droplets leaking from the corners of my mouth, Carlisle and I wordlessly began making preparations to dispose of the evidence in a convincing and efficient manner—that is by creating a sizable, but relatively contained flash fire which would consume the whole wing, but not extend beyond it into the distant, unaware sections of the greater hospital complex. Having done this several times before when Edward slipped up—as he unfortunately had a tendency to make a very public scene—I was able to get the flame going and contain it very easily with the emergency materials I carried with me in my purse, before Carlisle and I both fled the scene, disappearing into the depths of the surrounding city long before the thick billows of black smoke drew the attention of local authorities.

After we had vacated the building, Carlisle, unfortunately forgot his "slip up" again, blaming the incident once again on me. And this time I could not deflect his criticism, for after having consumed the blood of those last two witnesses, my eyes were just as incriminatingly crimson as his. And although it distressed me that this was a recurring pattern and that Carlisle would rather live an illusory, unhealthy life than confront his true nature, my visions revealed that all would be well if Carlisle agreed to switch to drinking bagged human blood for good when this "Bella" (who was our only hope in the distant battle) was changed. And he would be most likely to make it a permanent switch if Aro visited him and approved of his choice.

But if he did not switch, we would be unable to avoid another public disaster like this in fifty years—which would, if it was permitted to occur, almost certainly end up recorded and broadcast to the entire world over something called a YouTube.

And I absolutely could not allow that to happen.

…

Quickly after the pair had dashed into the forest and rescued the pitiable Edward from his self-terminating machinations, more memories since the fateful incident flashed past my perception. These added additional insight into Carlisle's condition and why exactly Alice seemed to believe that it was imperative for me to assist him in person. For not only did his mental ability to stave off his unsatisfied thirst have a rather consistent threshold, and his diet cause a myriad of unpleasant symptoms. But additionally I discovered through Alice's watchful eyes that there was a rather important reason that fifty or so years without human blood was the point at which he descended into an animalistic frenzy.

While Alice stayed with the "vegetarian" coven fastidiously preparing each member for the imminent crossing of their paths with a certain Isabella Swan, she noticed another negative symptom emerging in my dear tricentennial friend which I had missed during his stay in Volterra. At first, I had internally berated myself for missing something so vital. But after pondering the matter for a time I realized that my inobservance was relatively justified because the symptom in question was a fault with Carlisle's venom, and since he had never once drank directly from live humans throughout the duration of his stay, I had never been afforded the chance to notice that it had begun to grow impotent. And when I had nursed him back to life with the blood of eight dead men and women, it seemed that I had inadvertently prevented him from lashing out in the same manner as in that derelict hospital for at least another fifty years because in feeding him until his incredible appetite had been satisfied, I had restored Carlisle to full-strength.

But it seemed, in the absence of my intervention these last couple of centuries, Carlisle's venom would slowly weaken as he continued to subsist on an insufficiently nutritious diet and eventually, just before he was due for another "episode" as Alice referred to them, his venom would grow so weak that it carried the same transformative, pain-inducing and skin-rebinding powers as distilled water—in other words: none. Which had numerous frightening implications, for venom was the substance which kept our immortal systems running. And if it grew deficient and remained as such for any longer than a few years, Alice's visions were crystal clear: the tissues which comprised Carlisle's physical form would no longer remain bound together, and as a result he would simply crumble away to dust.

And watching my dear friend completely disintegrate into lifeless ashes before my very eyes filled my unbeating heart with unmatchable horror.

There was absolutely no way, in heaven or hell, that I was going to permit such a ghastly thing to occur.

As Alice's memories rapidly drew to a close, I mentally steeled myself for the unnerving return to my own heightened self-awareness that invariably ensued and struggled to focus on considering the best words to say after such a weighty revelation. It was all so very much to take in—the good and the bad—and it simply would not do to sound like a blubbering idiot as soon as I released Alice's hand. But as the new images, smells and sounds from her thoughts continued to whorl in my mind over and over again, the only eloquent thing I could manage to say was, "Fascinating."

It was an apt enough description of what I had seen, I supposed. But as my hands slipped deftly from Alice's tiny white fingers and I stared, dazed, in wonderment upwards at nothing visible to anyone else's eyes, human or vampire, I swiftly realized that the young, clairvoyant vampire was expecting a slightly more verbose response than a single word. So I continued:

"So many visions you have had—and so many you have kept secret until the opportune moment. What a tremendous burden that must be," I marveled, awestruck at her fortitude and conscientiousness.

"I manage," Alice deflected my flattering compliment modestly. I could tell from the slight uneasiness in her tone that my acquisitive appreciation still unnerved her somewhat but that she was willing to put up with it for the sake of the protection of the vampire race. From now on, with the way modern technology made it possible to expose everything about vampires in a matter of seconds, it was absolutely imperative that Alice be a part of the Volturi to prevent the true knowledge of vampirekind ever leaking in such a widespread and devastating fashion. Without her incredible foreknowledge, we were inevitably doomed—her visions proved as much.

"Yes… I can see that…" I said somewhat absently, still mentally lost in overviewing her myriad of thoughts, especially all her visions, of which there were _very _many, given that every different possible outcome lead to a different future. "You see so much…" I breathed with whimsical awe.

Alice rolled her eyes at my obsessive flattery and swatted a tiny hand in my general direction, indicating her desire for me to cease immediately.

"But that day in the hospital was certainly the most shocking of them all," I noted aloud, switching back to more pertinent topics, which piqued Alice's interest—she nodded once to indicated that she was listening.

"Dear Carlisle…" I mused softly, almost to myself, as I shook my head gently in rapturous disbelief, before my cape-bearing shoulders suddenly began to shake violently and a hearty guffaw erupted from somewhere deep inside my chest before it escaped my lips as a serious of high-pitched cackles. "I simply cannot believe it! At last!" I clapped my hands together gleefully."He embraces the call of immortality!" I exclaimed joyfully between chuckles in response to the wonderful scene that had danced before my wondrous eyes, my voice strained with emotion as recalling the incident through Alice's eyes brought me to the edge of mirthful tears. "It was so beautiful…" I whispered with all the pride of a father whose firstborn child had just taken their very first steps.

Alice's wine-colored pout twisted into a subtle frown. I got the impression that "beautiful" wouldn't be the word Alice would choose to describe the scene of Carlisle finally being inexorably pressured into succumbing savagely to his instincts in a dangerously public place, but her disappointment with my choice of words did absolutely nothing to mar the truth they carried. To see Carlisle healthy again, to watch him hunt with a deadly single-mindedness, to see his oft satisfaction-deprived-self become utterly lost in the throes of post-feeding delight—I had yearned to see such things for centuries. And to have them laid before my hungry eyes like this after so much anticipation…

…it was almost as though Carlisle's own delayed and intensified pleasure at finally feeding properly was my own.

Certainly it was still incredibly disheartening that Carlisle's convictions persisted, leaving him still feeling extremely squeamish about the prospect of human slaughter, and making the grisly events which transpired in that ramshackle hospital simultaneously just as traumatizing as they were gratifying. But after realizing through Alice's own conclusions that this event could be a catalyst for me to convince him eternally to abandon his unhealthy ways, it was impossible to restrain the wide, maniacal grin which split across my face.

"When shall we visit him?" I asked, surprised at my own eagerness to reunite with my old friend, despite the lingering suspicions I still harbored in regards to his deceptive powers, especially towards their previous usage on myself. The prospect that I might finally sway him for good was much to tantalizing to pass up, no matter the risks involved.

"In two months would be best, after Bella has been trained somewhat in her powers, and can stand to be around humans," Alice explained coolly. "That way we can talk to him several months before he's due for his next 'episode' and recruit him to help us in the upcoming battle."

This was certainly an unexpected development—_Alice wanted Carlisle to assist us in the fight_?

"Are you sure that is wise? Carlisle is n—"

Alice butted in with clipped tones. "Aro, we're going to need as many fighters as we can get. Carlisle may be more of a lover than a fighter, but when his family is in danger—which we all will be in June—he will prove to be a powerful asset. Plus, with him around, his powers might allow us to curb the spread of sensitive information," she explained rationally, and I inwardly cursed her for being so logical and unemotional about all of this—I was much too concerned with Carlisle's immediate health to be thinking of the bigger picture.

"Very well, in two months' time we shall go visit Carlisle. But we shall not be the only ones," I stipulated with a firmly forbidding hand placed forward to indicate that I utterly refused to have Alice as my sole companion in this deadly venture.

"Of course. I never said you couldn't bring an army with you," Alice chimed in cheerily. "Anything less and Carlisle would actually be kind of freaked out—he knows that you don't fully trust him. But he still wants to see you again," she assured me with a thoughtful smile.

"As do I," I admitted, staring wistfully off into space as the thick stone walls vibrated with Isabella's labored screams.


	24. Chapter 23: First Blood

**AN: And we're back to Bella in this chapter. Just FYI (which you probably already know) Bella has no idea about what Aro just learned just yet—and she's got some more pressing matters to deal with first. :) But I just have to say I've been waiting since the beginning to write this chapter, so buckle up, it's gonna be a wild ride!**

**Also, s****orry for the spotty updates. No promises, but the next two chapters are already well underway. I hope to post again soon. :)**

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**Chapter Twenty-Three: First Blood**

Living through Carlisle's transformation had been unbearably painful and living through Edward's had been even more so, and my own encounter with vampire venom in my veins in the ballet studio had given me minimal personal experience. But none of the decades' worth of memories belonging to others, nor my own last year in Arizona had adequately prepared me for this. I had expected the unquenchable fire, the indescribable pain flooding every inch of my body, and thus I had avoided the most psychologically distressing factor in both Carlisle's and Edward's turnings—namely the lack of knowledge of what on earth was happening to them. But I hadn't expected the intensity, the sharpness of the sting of venom beneath my skin, and the sheer disorientation I underwent as the venom slowly filled my brain. My pain receptors and my neurons were wired differently than both men, so I supposed that explained some of the differences in my body's response to the blazing sensation, but the physical trauma wasn't my largest concern.

My largest concern was that somehow in the midst of the shock and excruciation I had completely lost all perception of time, and the foreign fluids from Aro seeping into my skin and especially into my head were altering my mind—enhancing it, I supposed, but simultaneously seriously freaking me out as I spent some uncountable number of hours not knowing where I was, or who I was until the venom dissipated from those areas of the brain. Luckily, no amnesia occurred—everything was still there. But as my "ascent" into immortality commenced, I found myself mostly just shrieking, kicking and flailing against the proverbial "flames" rather than thinking, because my mind, like the rest of my being, was in the midst of a chaotic transition and clearly wasn't going to be of much use until it was over.

I screamed for hours, maybe even days—I didn't know how long. And without a single errant ray of sunlight penetrating the thick sienna walls, there was not even a logical way to deduce such a thing, even if my mind was operating as it should.

I howled at the top of my lungs until finally, after some great length of time my labored voice grew hoarse and my violent writhing and wailing turned to pathetic wiggling and wheezing. My strength ebbed and my vicious thrashing amidst the silky sheets soon ceased altogether and I succumbed to the overwhelming desire to simply lie still and allow the venom to ravage my body as both Carlisle and Edward had done before me.

An overwhelming sense of peace washed over me as I stopped resisting the fierce onslaught of Aro's saliva—instinctively it seemed like the right thing to do in response to the supernatural chemicals rushing through my body, and it wasn't like there was anything I could do about the pain anyway. Alice had informed me some time ago that Carlisle had already tried a number of both traditional and relatively modern medicines on Rosalie during her transformation, to no effect. Apparently one of the many "perks" of being a vampire was that human medications were totally useless—which was just wonderful.

But though I would have given everything up to and including my left arm to have the pain disappear right now, I would have given my all that and my _right arm _to know how much longer I had to wait. The agony of not possessing any semblance of a timetable for my release from this torture was a thousand times worse than the pain itself. Pain, I discovered, I could endure. Not knowing how much longer I had to live in the dark, in this transitory state of uncertainty between human and vampire—that was something I had been desperate to escape since the beginning. And I wasn't sure how much longer I would hold out. I could still have _days_ left before the inferno raging within me was extinguished, and it already felt like _years _had gone by. But I had a terribly disheartening suspicion that it had only been a few hours at most.

In a word, it was Hell.

And I hoped to God that in the end it would be worth it.

…

At some point, what felt like eras later, I faintly became aware of the fact that the once all-consuming pain was gradually receding, leaving my extremities and collecting near the ventricles of my racing heart. As I registered the change and realized what it must mean, I breathed out a hoarse sigh of relief as a comforting chill settled over my fingers and toes, slowly spreading through my hands and feet before pouring down my arms and legs. Finally, the seemingly unending torment was coming to a close.

But as comforting as this cooling of the flames felt and as exciting as it was to recognize the symptoms of a transformation nearly complete, while the remaining pain concentrated at my center, my still-mortal heart began thundering away at a positively breakneck speed. I felt like it was threatening to erupt out of my chest at any moment—a notion that inundated my frail being with fear. _What if my heart won't stop?_ I thought, panicking at the prospect._ I know it's normal for it to speed up near the end, but I swear Carlisle's wasn't beating **this**_ _fast! _

_Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump—_it was really going, like the organ was attempting liftoff or something.

And it was getting more insistent with every beat—_THUMP-thump, THUMP-thump, THUMP-thump, THUMP-thump_—straining my fiery-feeling chest cavity to the very bursting point. The pounding was causing my ribs to ache and my lungs were contracting painfully as they rapidly filled with viscous fluid. My kneejerk-reaction was to cough, sputtering out a few sticky droplets of the venom gathering in my lungs, but there was absolutely no way that I could physically eject all the liquid pooling inside the limp organs—lungs weren't designed with a vomit-reflex. And so breathing suddenly became extremely difficult and there was nothing I could do about it except wheeze dryly like a severely dehydrated asthmatic, gasping for oxygen as I swiftly drowned in Aro's potent saliva.

This wasn't good… neither Carlisle nor Edward had encountered _this_.

Sure, their lungs had filled with venom too: every cell in every part of the body had to come in contact with the venom in order for the transformation to be complete, because the genetic code of the entire body had to be completely rewritten, which meant that every organ in the body had to be touched by venom at some point during the process. But both Carlisle and Edward's lungs had absorbed the transformative liquid nearly instantaneously, leaving immortalized tissue behind without so much as missing a breath. My lungs instead were filling with unabsorbed venom, which seemed to be making no tangible effort to alter or integrate with my mortal cells, and I hadn't the slightest inclination why. Perhaps it was the same reason that I became so adversely affected in my perception while the venom was working on transforming my brain—perhaps my organs were just unusually resistant to vampire venom.

I just hoped that my body's uncanny resistance didn't cost me my life.

With my available breathing room summarily shrinking, I vainly attempted to cough out Aro's name, to implore for his assistance—or anyone's assistance really, I was dying here and not particularly picky about the identity of my rescuer. But as my airways became increasingly filled with venom, words rapidly became impossible.

It appeared that I was doomed to die alone.

_THUMP-THUMP, THUMP-THUMP, THUMP-THUMP, THUMP-THUMP—_now my frantic heart was hammering even harder, and my capacity to breathe had completely escaped me. A thick swarm of black spots filled my vision and although I fought it for several minutes, I finally grudgingly submitted myself to the sweet, dark oblivion of unconsciousness.

…

Suddenly the thundering stopped.

The blood once rushing like Niagara Falls in my ears suddenly stilled, leaving a deafening silence in its wake. Slowly my blood began to sink into my body, being absorbed by my new tissues, leaving my skin feeling pleasantly cool. The same phenomena of refreshing temperature quickly finished washing over my body from where it had left off in my appendages, expunging the ravaging flames completely even from the darkest recesses of my major arteries. At first I was bewildered by the hasty change, until the sluggish gears of my brain got whirring and I realized what this meant.

My heart had stopped. My lungs were no longer full of venom. And the burning sensation was gone. Which could only mean one thing…

…That I had survived the transformation.

I, Isabella Swan, was now immortal.

It was a heady thing to come to terms with, and as my drained airways allowed me the privilege to inhale again if I so chose, I did so utterly without thinking—my residual human instincts compelled me to, since breathing had once been a pivotal necessity—and was taken aback by the experience on two accounts. The first was that this instinctual intake of air was not ragged with desperation, it was steady, calm and assured, and the oxygen, while it felt pleasantly at home in my new lungs, was completely unnecessary, providing no rush of relief to my once-breathless body. It was the strangest, most foreign feeling.

But my surprise over it was swiftly overtaken by the second unexpected experience—that of the myriad of smells that assaulted my senses along with the inhalation. I could smell everything—from the aroma of dribbling wax from low burning candles, to the scent of dusty wooden furniture, to the pungence of sweaty bedsheets, and the chalky ancient stone surrounding me. It was amazing how perceptive my formerly mostly useless facial feature was—and I continued to sniff the air experimentally in order to analyze everything this heightened sense allowed me to.

Intrigued by the usefulness of one of my enhanced senses, I tentatively decided to slide into a sitting position atop the rumpled bedspread and open my eyes to discover what my supernaturally boosted sight could reveal. As my creaseless eyelids flew open I was at once nearly blinded with the brightness and excitement I found in the room. What had appeared to be a cold, dim enclosure swathed in muted colors had become a warm, sufficiently lit area teeming with more hue variance than I thought possible. None of the colors were different, I supposed on further observation—the sheets were still black, the stone walls still beige and the candlelight still a pale orange—but I was positive that my eyes were seeing significantly more subtle variations of light than were available to human vision. And not only that, but every single object in the room sprung out at me with a tack-sharp focus, so that I could at a glance determine the thread-count of the sheets beneath me or microscopically examine the individual droplets of hot wax from the other side of the room.

It was so much to take in…

But just as I was about to rise from the bed and further test my visual capabilities around the room, I suddenly became aware of a swath of lush taffeta brushing against my leg. Upon examination, it proved to be part of a stunning, mermaid-style, dark ruby-red dress which I had definitely not been wearing prior to my transformation and could not recall being put into at any point when I was conscious. Until I my lungs had filled with fluid and I'd lost coherence I had been wearing ordinary blue jeans and a non-descript button-down shirt, which had gotten rather wrinkled and soaked in sweat from my pitiful struggle against the pain of transformation. Perhaps Alice had slipped in on while I was out?

I furrowed my brows in disbelief—any other vampire would have seen my loss of consciousness as a dire emergency, not a nifty opportunity to get me all dolled up for my first day as a newborn. But of course Alice was not any ordinary vampire, and was probably certain enough at the time from her visions that I would survive to not fret when she found me immobilized and not breathing. Still… couldn't I get dressed up later? I reasoned, bewildered by Alice's peculiar timing. There was so much I wanted to explore with my new senses, much of which I was certain would not be advisable in a very restricting, very fragile, multi-thousand dollar dress.

It would have to go. But since there were no other clothing options available to me—Alice had tactfully removed my previous clothes from the room and possibly burned them—it would have to stay on for a while longer, because I definitely wasn't going to traipse around the Volturi fortress in nothing but my underwear. The prospect was tempting—I really hated wearing dresses, for a klutz like me they were high-power magnets for disaster—but I figured it wouldn't be in good taste to show so much skin in front of a crowd that predated the Victorian era. I really didn't want to garner that sort of reputation for myself, let alone on the very first day.

Gingerly lifting the floor-length skirt so that I didn't trip disastrously over it, I stepped carefully off the bed. As I set my perfectly pedicured feet down I was both astonished and grateful that Alice had deigned to leave them bare—it was uncharacteristic of the obsessive fashionista to neglect any opportunity to trick me into wearing some gorgeous, hazard-inducing heels. The pleasantly warm, powdery stones beneath my unencumbered feet felt particularly amazing, though, and it was then that I realized that shoes were actually completely an aesthetic choice for vampires, because with such impenetrable feet, no rocks or thorns or gritty pavement could hurt them. As I walked further, slower now, to savor the sensations, I idly wondered why they even bothered to wear shoes within the castle walls away from prying eyes because wearing shoes would most certainly damper this great feeling—maybe so that they weren't distracted by it? It felt so good I did a happy twirl, sending the taffeta ruffles unfurling around me like a blooming rose.

While I danced excitedly over the ancient floors, a peripheral glint of silver light betrayed the presence of a mirror beside the room's exit, which caught my attention and halted me abruptly in my tracks as I paused to stare at perfection. The woman standing shell-shocked on the other side of the long, slender glass pane was absolutely gorgeous with flawless alabaster skin, lovely glossy nails, plump pink lips absent of any chapping or nervous chew-marks, and teeth so blindingly white she could convince anyone to buy her brand of toothpaste in a heartbeat. For a split-second I imagined that I must be looking instead at some glorious work of portraiture capturing the likeness of an ancient goddess, until my awestruck gaze fell upon three definite holes in this theory of mine. First, this woman was wearing the same ridiculously ostentatious dress as I was, down to the precise position of the crisp ruffles, pleats and folds. Second, this woman had the most vibrant crimson eyes I had ever seen, which were somewhat unnerving, and not typical for a painting of a goddess, but simultaneously only served to enhance her unconventional beauty. And third, this woman looked a great deal like me, albeit the me of my wildest dreams.

She—I mean _I—_was a magnificent creature to behold.

I had to pinch myself to remind myself that it was real—this was definitely too good to be true.

Finally, I had what I had wanted for so long.

But unfortunately only moments later my unmeasurable euphoria was quashed by a sudden flash of uncomfortable warmth in my throat which wasn't yet strong enough to be called "painful" but was definitely insistent enough and eerily familiar enough that I knew it soon would be. Already, my newborn neck was flaring up with the beginnings of thirst and immediately I began to panic.

_Oh no… not this, _I thought, horrified as my incredibly fast mind dredged up murky images from my human memories and much clearer one's from Carlisle's of the savage things I might be compelled to do once the pain set in on full-blast. _No! Make it stop!_ I begged my own body as the fire in my esophagus sweltered hotter, causing me to hiss sharply in pain and scratch at the cool skin with my hard fingernails._ I need more time to prepare for this… I can't kill now! Not when I am still hu—_

_Wait. I'm not human anymore, _I reminded myself inwardly, looking down fearfully at my inhumanly pale hands and casting a wary glance at my demonic, red-eyed reflection staring hungrily back at me. _I am a vampire now. And vampires eat humans—that's how it works. _I tried vainly to rationalize to myself. But nothing I said to myself could banish the images of those helpless men and women screaming and running for their lives as the Volturi guard chased lazily after them with demented, sadistic smiles before they tore into their throats. _That is what I must become—that is what the world needs or else… _

The desperate cries of hundreds of dying vampires rang soundly in my ears—they were counting on me to be their savior.

But I quickly found as the thirst increased even more to the point where I became physically incapable of restraining a guttural cry of distress, that the fate of the world seemed wholly inconsequential in comparison with my present agony. Even the excruciating pain of transformation far paled in comparison—this was madness… and my oh-so-helpful instincts were quick to supply vivid visual aids of the precise steps I needed to take to alleviate my suffering. My pearly, razor-sharp teeth dripped thickly with venom of my own in response to the riveting mental pictures of feeding. But as I recalled the whopping amount of human terror I had witnessed just prior to Aro's bite, my stomach did a queasy flip-flop at the prospect of such callous murder.

_I'm not ready for this, _I internally argued once again, and externally moaning as the scratchy texture in my throat continually vexed me. _I'm going to throw up if I kill somebody. _I determined—seeing as that was the most likely outcome of my extreme thirst and natural guilt from committing what I had been taught was a terrible crime against goodness. _But if this thirst keeps up, I'm definitely going to kill someone… _And so in futile desperation, I clenched my fists tight and shook my head back and forth wildly, hoping to banish my body's morbid desires by sheer force of will—or at least hold them off until I could satisfactorily deal with this moral dilemma.

I had thought it was resolved after witnessing the feast in the throne room—but could I ever be comfortable with slaughtering people who possessed the same capacity to think, to feel to dream, to laugh, to live, to learn and to love as I did? Could I ever really live with myself completely unapologetically as the others did? Or was I doomed to hate myself into suicidality like Edward? Or to live in a false reality of willful denial as Carlisle did?

_More importantly, would I have to sacrifice my capacity for compassion to be able to function? _I wondered, utterly despising the notion of being hardened into a dispassionate, unflinching ice queen in order to keep my physical health and mental sanity—I had absolutely zero-desire to turn into some murderous crystal figurine who wasn't even human enough to remember what tenderness and generosity were, my sanity be damned.

But just as I swore my head was about to explode under all the pressure of considering the ramifications of my mounting thirst from every possible angle, my acute hearing picked up a sudden rush of cloaks and my nose a flurry of sweet, immortal aromas permeating the air. I abruptly ceased all hissing and growling in order to listen to their approach. It was a small party of six vampires, five of which I immediately recognized by scent from Aro's memories—Aro, Caius, Jane, Renata and Felix—and the sixth I recognized by the sound of her seven-inch stilettos clacking against the stones as Alice.

Despite the direness of the situation, I couldn't help but roll my eyes—I knew that vampires were incapable of getting sore feet and that Alice was so incredibly petite that she could get away with such an extravagance without towering over everyone else, being 4' 10" and all. But sometimes I worried that her insistence on looking runway-ready at every possible moment might get in the way of more pressing matters. Would she really go to battle with the rest of us in Gucci and Prada?

But before I had any further time to ponder my short, clairvoyant friend's stylish choices, I was jarringly brought back to the present with a piercing burn in my dry mouth which caused me to reflexively cry out. The sounds accompanying the entourage's approach suddenly grew in volume, suggesting that they had heard my uncontainable plea and were rushing to my rescue. A low murmur sent one of the pairs of feet—not Alice—dashing off down the ancient halls towards some unknown destination. But the rest of the rapid footsteps continued to swell louder, closer, until suddenly the group was just on the other side of the aging wooden door.

A nimble hand—Aro's—reached out to grasp at the brass handle in order to enter the room.

With a gentle push, the ancient oak swung open on its creaky brass hinges, and a huddle of black cloaks and eager crimson eyes fell into my line of sight. Every brow in the group crumpled in confusion except Alice's as they noted the anxious look on my face in combination with the luxurious fabric hugging my refined curves and flaring out dramatically just above the knees. Caius in particular looked skeptical, as though he suspected some sort of foul play to be involved in dressing me up for the occasion. But after Aro received a knowing glance from Alice, the white-haired vampire's expression softened from a deep scowl into an annoyed line.

There was an awkward moment after the exchange where the five simply stared at me as I grasped at my throat, standing absolutely still only a few feet away from my person as though unsure as to how to proceed. Jane and Renata glanced furtively at one another before returning their steely gaze towards me, as though attempting to assess the level of threat I posed to their hard-earned positions as Aro's favorite offensive and defensive lackeys respectively, but otherwise there was no movement. Their V-like formation before the entryway, with Aro in the center-front, Caius hovering ever so slightly behind him on his right and Alice not too far behind Caius, along with Renata practically sewn into Aro's left side and Jane behind and to the left of her, was as solid and unflinching as marble and equally mute.

_Felix must have left to fetch me something, or rather _someone _to eat, _I reasoned as my eyes hesitantly scanned the crowd. I gulped audibly as I tried to shake from my mind what my first meal would actually entail other than incomprehensible satisfaction.

Noticing my discomfort, it was Aro that finally broke the silence. "My _dear_ Isabella…" His voice caressed every syllable of my name with its lulling, feathery texture—a voice that was only made more breathtaking with my increased auditory capabilities. "Immortality suits you…" he commented appraisingly as his inquisitive eyes hovered observantly over every expanse of exposed skin, lingering on my sculpted collarbones and vivid scarlet eyes. "And that dress…" he trailed off mysteriously before directing a meaningful gaze and a small gesture of his hand toward Alice as he purred out the words. "…is exquisite on her. Truly an excellent choice, Alice."

Alice flashed a dazzling smile which shone with the same brilliance mine had in the reflection only minutes before—it was strange to think I was like the whimsical pixie in any way whatsoever, but I guessed I would have to get used to the fact that we were the same species now eventually.

"Thanks, I thought with how long we've waited for this that the event deserved a bit of commemoration," she responded in a chipper, high soprano. It rang with a glass-like clarity I was still unaccustomed to feeling in my own ears rather than someone else's, like I had during the memories Aro's daughters had shared with me earlier.

Aro offered a gentle nod and the barest hint of a smirk in agreement. But I was simply stunned—_How long exactly had I been out? _The prospect that I had thrashed about in this derelict room for more than the traditional three days momentarily distracted me from my raging hunger.

"What day is it, exactly?" I enquired somewhat hesitantly, bowing my head ever so slightly and picking nervously at my nails before I recalled that I was actually currently far physically stronger than the intimidating vampires before me and thus had no reason to show them such a severity of deference. I straightened my posture suddenly before continuing in my inquiry: "How long did it take?"

"Much too long for my taste," Caius revealed distastefully, though he said nothing else before crossing his arms in a defiant position and giving me a glare icy enough to make Hell freeze over. His irately tapping feet and fidgety fingers betrayed his true feelings however—to my surprise it sounded like he was… _worried. _As though he was wroth with me for taking so long because he was fearstricken about what might happen to him in the upcoming battle if I didn't make it.

Apparently Aro had relayed the daunting news of my importance to vampirekind sometime after he had bitten me and after Caius had finished with his meal. The snowy-haired vampire's perspective on me had swiftly changed from "annoying insect that might double as a tasty snack" to "vampirekind's very vulnerable last hope to be protected at all costs,"—a change the ancient sadist was still visibly upset about. But I sensed his unease was mostly on the account that he feared I was still angry at him for nearly eating me, rather than that he was jealous or angry towards my sudden prominence. He worried that I might hold a grudge and refuse to interfere and save him if he was suddenly thrust into mortal danger.

Honestly… he shouldn't be worried about that. I was absolutely certain I would get over it very quickly—in fact, if he helped me get something to terminate this grating inferno in my throat I might just forgive him on the spot. At least, my hungry inner vampire would...

"Today is the Saturday, the 24th of March. You were out for five days," Alice responded matter-of-factly, as though there was nothing at all unusual about her statement.

_I can't have heard that right. _"Five days?! But I thought…"

"Every transformation is different," Alice cut me off before launching into her encyclopedic explanation. "Every person's body is slightly different and the amount of venom used to transform is always different, so anywhere from 2-5 days is within the normal range. Carlisle, Edward and Rosalie all just happened to take three days. That's pretty average, but plenty of vampires have taken longer." she reassured me with placating hands.

Her calming gesture confused me, until I realized that in my malnourishment and dismay over being such a freak, my fervently neck-scratching hands had started to wring the wiry tendons there with an incredible force. I suddenly loosened my grip and forcefully dropped my hands to my sides in embarrassment—thankfully my neck was diamond-hard and this new, resilient body didn't bruise or else this would be even more awkward. Of course, loosening my grip really did nothing to expel the grating flames which had lied beneath my hands, nor anything to banish my conscientious reluctance to follow through with my earlier agreement to feed in the traditional manner.

Aro took notice of my inner struggle and with a maniacal grin on his face he asked, "Thirsty, Isabella?"

Horrifically, I found myself nodding in response, even though I was terrified of what he might decide to do next. But before I could say anything to take back my gesture of assent, Aro raised his hand in a dramatic fashion and snapped his fingers. The sharp sound nearly instantaneously summoned Felix, who had flitted onto the scene with the surviving man from the recent throne-room feast struggling pitifully in his hulking arms.

Initially I was mortified—he looked so helpless and pitiable as he weakly kicked against the enormous vampire holding him hostage. But I soon inhaled, purely out of habit, and the scent emanating form beneath his skin was overwhelming, causing me to lurch forward instinctively before I grimacingly forced myself to stagger back.

I shook myself again. I couldn't do this… five days ago I was just like him.

But while I fixed my eyes pointedly at the floor and fiercely gritted my teeth in order to avoid advancing forwards again, in my peripheral vision I caught Caius' eyebrows raising in surprise—clearly he hadn't expected me to continue to resist my instincts after Felix had arrived on the scene. Jane too, eyed me with chilly disbelief before turning to her companion, Renata, whose otherwise flawless complexion was deeply etched with worry—the worry that I would absolutely refuse to do what was required of me in order for her to survive into the next year.

_Damn it, why do I have to be the "chosen one" in Alice's vision? _I silently lamented. _That just makes this entire thing way more difficult than it needs to be. _

"Go on… feed. You must be famished," Aro encouraged with a lulling, downy voice that only made the venom accumulate on my tongue even faster. It was dribbling down the sides of my chin now and that made straining against the current of instinct driving me closer to this human twice as hard.

_I am famished…_ I admitted to myself, licking away the gooey streams of liquid sliding past my lips. But I was still having a really hard time reconciling the idea that I was supposed to eat that—or rather, _him._ Of course as the hunger wore on me, my scruples against such things were quickly disintegrating as well.

But then there was still the issue of how—surely I had watched others feed, but wrapping my own head (or in this case, teeth) around the matter was something else entirely. I really had no desire to look like an idiot as I partook of this pivotal vampiric right-of-passage, especially when Alice had dressed me up so nicely for the occasion. But my hope of keeping-face around this powerful conglomerate was also swiftly falling on the priorities list as the intoxicating, metallic aroma of warm, fresh blood continually battered at my defenses.

"You agreed to this, did you not, Isabella?" Aro prompted gently, beckoning me with a single finger and gesturing invitingly towards the horrorstruck man wriggling in Felix's arms. "Besides… is not his scent positively mouthwatering?"

It was—but wasn't that beside the point? Or was that entirely the point? It was getting really hard to tell—coherent thought was rapidly falling away into pure, primal instinct. An instinct to feed; to kill. My vision grew hazier and filled with red—_yes, tear into his flesh like you want to… _my inner animal encouraged …_savor his delicious blood, revel in the sound of it rushing through your veins… cry out in delight as you come to the glorious finish… you want this… killing him is good… _

_No! _the last vestiges of my human conscience cried out desperately. _There must be another way! I will find it!_

I growled in impatient frustration, balled my hands and gritted my teeth—the poor man had seen too much carnage in the throne room already to not know what he was in for and was now loudly begging Felix to let him go in exchange for something else, and his pleas weren't helping me reconsider my hesitancy to kill him. The man's bargains grew increasingly more desperate as time went on.

First it was an offer of silence; namely that he would never tell anyone what he had seen and heard, which was a nice try, given the Volturi's single-minded goal for secrecy, but not nearly sufficient to spare his life. The second was an offer to find replacements: other humans to take his place whom he would lure back here to secure his own release—which the Volturi already had Heidi to do. And the third was to keep him alive and let him breed with the next human woman we captured and let him start a human-farm for us.

It was sick that he would even think of that, but I guessed when you were _that_ desperate to live…

"Silence you pathetic fool!" Caius bellowed at a deafening decibel.

He darted towards the frantically negotiating man, before seizing his jaw in an iron-grip and adding in a frosty whisper in the fear-frozen man's ear, "Your only usefulness to us is in your nourishment to her." Caius flickered a meaningful glance in my direction—one which clearly said _get on with it_—before ending his confrontation with a threatening hiss and sauntering back to his original position, his long black cape fluttering dramatically behind him.

"M-maybe we could start with b-bagged b-blood?" I weakly stammered out as my stomach churned nauseously again at the idea of ending a human life on my very first day as a vampire. I was hoping beyond hope that Alice had foreseen this moment and prepared accordingly—though the puzzled frown on her immaculate face wasn't particularly reassuring.

Caius was about to voice a vehement protest when Aro stopped his tirade before it even started with a single raised hand and decided to take a wholly different approach. Aro floated close enough to lift my resisting head by the chin with his surprisingly warm and soft hands and purred in a sedating voice. "Close your eyes, Isabella," he instructed, as though my unorthodox plea had simply not occurred—and because of my startlingly still fervid attraction to the vampire I found myself unquestioningly following his instructions. "Inhale that lovely scent." Again I complied immediately—and damn, it was heavenly in a way that utterly transcended description.

_Could something that smelled this good really be such a bad thing to drink?_ I absently reasoned with the flickering protests of my conscience. _Such a sweet, compelling aroma… beckoning me to feed... _

I hissed—this time in thirsty anticipation, rather than in pain—and I heard a low rumbling chuckle coming from Aro. "Good, Isabella. Now lose yourself in it. Let your instincts be your guide," he advised, trailing off dreamily with a soft sound. "They will guide you to your satisfaction," he reassured me, startling me by placing another unusually soft and warm hand on my exposed shoulder before stepping out of the way in order to give me a clear path to my first supper.

Inhaling deeply, I allowed the full faculties of my nose the opportunity to embrace the delicious smell and listened closely as it thrummed invitingly beneath a thin, easily discarded layer of flesh. _Maybe there was another way,_ I idly considered. But right now, obtaining the source of that godly fragrance and slurping down as much of it as I possibly could, _that_ was my new morality.

_I am going to tear that human apart_, I gleefully thought to myself.

Hungrily, I licked my venom-soaked lips and suddenly opened my eyes in order to rapidly survey my surroundings. Felix and my prey were still standing in the same spot, and so with the barest of delighted growls I darted over to where the man stood trapped in Felix's grip. As I approached with unprecedented speed, the wall of vampires swiftly parted to let me through and Felix expertly let go, causing the dazed man to stumble directly into my savage grasp.

His skin was jarringly hot—much warmer than I had expected. But I quickly overlooked this detail as I wrestled him closer to my body in order to align his fragile neck with my snapping teeth. My eager hands on his frail wrists bruised his papery flesh dark purple almost instantly and I heard his fragile bones snapping as I yanked him closer, causing him to howl heart-rendingly in pain. I felt a little bad for causing him so much agony, but there wasn't much I could do to control myself right now—my new hunger was unrelentingly insistent and with the frenetic thundering of his heartbeat ringing temptingly in my ears I was practically on auto-pilot set to "eat" right now.

Despite the effort it took to do so, I decided to ease up a lot on the arms and bit my lip in concentration as I fought with my thirst to think and tried to decide upon the best approach to consume this stunned individual. My throat couldn't take much more waiting, but the idea of drinking from a screaming, writhing human being seemed like too much. And that was when I remembered that Aro had snapped the neck of his victim before drinking her blood—so that she would not have to endure the pain of his venom. That seemed fairly humane—instant death over prolonged agony—and so before I was able to really understand what the outcome of such an action would be when I lacked all finesse in managing my superhuman strength, I decided that would be my course of action.

Alice's eyes suddenly grew to the size of saucers and she yelled, "Don't! Just bite him!"

But before the words could register coherently in my mind I had already grasped both sides of the man's head and…

…tore his head clean off.

Blood gushed everywhere, spraying in a wide fountain from the man's severed neck and splashed all over the ancient stone walls, onto the dusty floor, all over my expensive dress and in the startled faces of all seven vampires present. Panicking, I frantically tried to contain the mess by clamping my mouth over the place where the man's head used to be. Although I was able to gulp down most of the remaining blood as it spurted with ridiculous speed out of the man's body, much of it sprayed past me, further coating my pale shoulders, and the shocked visages of my onlookers as I frenetically struggled to chug down whatever I could in the interest of avoiding as much waste as possible.

His blood was scalding hot as it poured down my throat, but paradoxically it was a soothing balm to the blazing thirst raging in my throat, and the taste was exquisite—salty with a bitter coppery edge, though also sweet like liquid salted-caramel dark chocolate. Initially it was rushing into my stomach much too fast for me to really savor it as I wanted to. As the man's disconnected heart fluttered to a complete stop, the ejection rate of his inner fluids slowed, allowing me to slurp from the no-longer-spurting wound at my own, leisurely pace.

_Mmmmm… this is amazing… _I thought hazily, basking in the incredibly sensate experience of my first feed—the feel of my lips curled around his balmy skin, the sound of his blood pouring wonderfully into my body, the smell of shared excitement of my meal from the others, and the taste (oh the taste!). Now I finally understood what Edward and Aro had been raving about. As a virgin I really lacked proper perspective, but I was definitely starting to believe the claim that vampires enjoyed this more than sex—it felt mind-blowingly good.

But after some unmeasurable amount of time spent totally blissed-out, I gradually began to realize that no more the amazing liquid was coming forth in response to my avid attentions at the man's neck. Every last drop of his blood had exited his body—whether through my mouth or by spraying all over the place—and thus my meal was finished.

Instinctively, I drew back from my kill and watched in a pleasure-filled haze as his headless form crumpled unceremoniously to the ground for a few seconds before I felt an incredible tidal wave of pressure building up in my chest which forced me to arch my back and throw back my head in a sudden, jerky motion. With a sudden jolt, my stagnant heart flared to life for a single, reverberating beat and its pulse sent all the blood that had heavily accumulated in my stomach rushing through my normally dry veins and capillaries into every crystalline cell of my body. The sensation was electric and accompanied with a heady outpouring of endorphins into my system which combined to create the ultimate high—although having been sheltered enough to never have dabbled with any hardcore drugs, I really had no comparison. Still, I was unshakably certain that this feeling—this incredible livening of my entire body alongside the lingering taste of blood on my tongue—transcended everything else.

I couldn't help but moan in satisfaction—loudly.

In a word, it was Heaven.

And I never wanted it to stop.


	25. Chapter 24: Second Thoughts

**AN: Remember, being okay with something hypothetically in your mind, and actually in reality with your heart are two, very different things. Not all is dandy with Bella yet... **

**Though, I won't say anymore**—**that's what the chapter is here for. :) **

**Also, only one chapter left after this in the Luxury of Mercy! I plan to release the last chapter of LoM at the same time as the first chapter of the sequel, The Desolation of Mercy, which will pick up right where this one leaves off. I'll post a link on my profile page and at the bottom of the last chapter, so you can go directly there. **

**Enjoy! **

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Second Thoughts**

I was soaring on cloud-nine from the blood-high for a while. As the dusty candlelit room around slowly hazed back into focus, though, my feeding-induced ecstasy was gradually appended with a profound feeling of embarrassment. Guilt, I had assumed would be the first emotion to resurface once my rational capacities began returning to me. But I was simultaneously thrilled and disgusted with myself that as I slowly lowered my unblinking gaze down to the headless body lying awkwardly slumped amidst splatters of his own blood that I felt nothing of the sort. When the thick red fog clouding my vision completely dissipated, I noticed that the man's skin and muscles around his neck were stretched and raggedly torn like a disgusting combination of pulled taffy and cottage cheese, which grossed me out enough to make me quickly avert my eyes. But bizarrely there wasn't a trace of remorse for his slaughter in my entire being. Mostly, I felt a little dazed, caught in the tail-end of a happy stupor, and very self-conscious about the enormous mess I had made.

Aro would be livid, I was sure of it—he despised wastefulness, especially when human sacrifice was involved. And ironically, in trying to emulate him, I had carelessly squandered half of a perfectly delicious meal by spilling it all over the dusty walls and floor. I was deeply ashamed of myself for abusing his generosity by making such a flagrant mistake in estimating my strength, and in my acute humiliation I wasn't yet willing to meet his disapproving gaze. So, rather than boldly face up to the food I had tainted, I directed my sharp gaze away from the corpse and the huddle of pitch black cloaks beyond it. Instead, I stared pointedly at the murkily reflective puddle of blood resting just beneath the outer folds of my dress, inwardly berating myself for naively assuming that snapping necks was a relatively simple endeavor.

_I've made the hugest, goriest mess of all time and an enormous fool of myself trying to be nice while I kill someone. I should have just bit him like everyone else and dealt with the screaming… _I lectured myself mercilessly as the bliss waned further, giving me more room to think. _None of the other Volturi seem to mind—it's just Aro, and probably moreso because he can feel their pain than out of any real sympathy. Really, I need to get a grip and just put up with it. Drinking from a twitching, howling person can't be too bad can it?_ I tried to convince myself, but ultimately the sentiment resonated unharmoniously in my compassionate heart. The thought of combining the exhilarating ecstasy I had felt with the ongoing agony of another felt like a horribly cruel thing to do, and made me cringe in discomfort.

I wasn't a sadist_—_other people's pain made me shudder, not smile_—_so to me the idea of getting some kind of parasitic kick out of hurting someone else was completely revolting. I realized that avoiding causing others pain wasn't always possible, especially when your supernatural diet sort of necessitated such things, but I strongly affirmed that pain and pleasure ought to be clearly separated. The notion of combining the two was completely unthinkable.

However, as I aggrievedly mulled over my future options for feeding, (not particularly liking the choices presented to me when I had so little training on how to control this new, savagely powerful body), distantly I felt the delight of the feed completely dissipate. And it finally began to dawn on me what I had really done: a person, a fellow sentient being was dead because of me, their whole future literally ripped away from them in one last, vicious moment of reckless hunger.

I had killed him for his blood, slaughtered him like an animal with my bare hands.

All because of a little thirst.

For the last few moments, I guess the reward-center of my brain had still been so wrapped up in the sheer awesomeness of the meal he had provided me that it had been practically impossible to mourn his passing. Now that the initial buzz had finished wearing off, however, I abruptly began to understand what Aro had meant when he said that taking a human life would not suddenly become an easy reality to swallow simply because I was no longer human myself. A heavy, rotten, sludge-like feeling was starting to gurgle in my stomach and very rapidly the self-consciousness I was experiencing seemed childish and irrelevant.

Fear was the next thing I felt after the embarrassment. A fear of the stickiness drying in a thin film to my chilled, hard skin. A fear of the foreignness of feeling gleeful about carnage. And a fear of what ghastliness I would see when I looked in the mirror.

Afraid of what I might find in my grimy reflection in the glossy scarlet puddle resting at the edge of my ruffled dress, my vibrant ruby eyes suddenly darted upwards_—_I would much rather face the scrutiny of the Volturi than myself right now. However as my eyes settled over their figures I was a little surprised to find Caius and Aro both tautly sheathed in different robes than they had been wearing in the throne room a few days before, these being bordered on all edges with a golden scroll-pattern, rather than swirling black embroidery, because I hadn't really been paying attention before my meal. The others had changed too, though not much, I noted with some interest—Jane was still in a girlish knee-length dress, though it was blood red this time and accompanied by opaque black tights, Renata too still wore a thin, flowy gown, but it was gauzy and black instead of creamy. Alice had changed the most—wearing all black, rather than the masterfully coordinated array of browns, blues and reds—but the stylish calf-high leather boots she wore, along with a spunky cropped biker jacket and skin-tight skinny jeans weren't all that unexpected.

No, the most surprising thing about the quintuplet before me was not their change of wardrobe.

When my sharp eyes had initially shot up towards them I had been expecting to see a certain degree of dissatisfaction on their pale, crystalline faces, but shockingly that was not what I found. Rather than being faced with extreme frustration, disgust or malice the expressions of the other six vampires in the room were simply blank, their red-spattered faces betraying absolutely none of their true feelings except perhaps pure shock, for they kept staring intensely at me in stunned silence. Their unreadable, unrelenting gazes were making me very nervous_—_were they proud of me for taking this first step? Angry that I had clumsily caused a ridiculous, wasteful mess? Upset that I had definitely ruined a very expensive article of clothing by soaking the luxurious taffeta in blood? Did I fail some kind of secret vampire litmus-test? What?

I kept waiting for some kind of signal, some movement or speech to disrupt the heavy cloud of silence that hung over the room, but they didn't budge a single millimeter, nor did any of them blink.

It was starting to get creepy.

But just as I began the process of opening my darkly bloodstained lips to speak there was a sudden flicker of movement in the six scarlet pairs of eyes down towards my right hand which was accompanied by a disgusted expression, as though there was something unsettling there to look at. Abruptly shutting my mouth I decided to examine whatever it was that the frozen-stiff entourage was staring at, trailing my tack-sharp eyesight down the smooth length of my arm until I settled on the object of their unnerved attention. As I gradually became more aware of that portion of my body, I felt a matted patch of wet hair tangled between my tightly curled fingers and when I looked down at them, I saw the most horrific sight I had ever witnessed.

Dangling limply in my grasp was the man's severed head, his face frozen in contorted pain, and his jagged neck still dripping with a the occasional droplet of wasted blood.

I shrieked and immediately dropped the offending appendage, which landed with a dull splash, before scampering backwards against the far wall behind the bed to get as far away from it as I possibly could—_oh my god, I was holding his head! His not-attached, dripping head! That's so nasty! _Now I was pretty sure I was going to vomit—that was just too much. But before I had the chance to really heave in disgust, knowing that I had caused such disturbing butchery, a startling sound broke me out of my nauseating thoughts.

Aro was laughing. And not just a little chuckle either—he was cackling like a deranged old witch from those old cartoons.

Apparently he found my predicament hilarious.

I, of course, begged to differ—it was terrifying! A _human head_ in my hand! A human head in _my hand_! Nothing seemed to be able to banish that awful, grisly image out of my mind, and that traumatic visual was apparently the only key needed to swing wide open the floodgates restraining the crushing guilt I had initially expected. _I am a monster, _I despaired, holding my filthy, bloodstained hands as far away from my body as I possibly could, wanting absolutely nothing to do with them after one of them had gripped something so ghastly. A soft, broken moan of anguish left my lips and my eyes stung with rapidly accumulating venom—_I was a murderer, a demon_…

But despite my sudden descent into deep self-loathing, Aro continued to laugh, his chest heaving and his whole body rocking unstably with the effort, until everyone in the general vicinity was staring fearfully at him, rather than at me, wondering what the hell was wrong with him that made him have such a seriously twisted sense of humor. Caius in particular looked very disturbed by his "brother's" ill-fitting outburst, and watched with extreme wariness as Aro pitched back and forth with an eerily wide grin on his face, his long black hair sailing madly around him. Renata and Jane exchanged worried glances and Felix shuffled uncomfortably as viewed the startling scene from behind. Alice was the only one who didn't seem to be visibly upset by Aro's reaction, and looked on his blood-splattered, guffawing visage with an unruffled, passive interest.

"Such incredible strength!" Aro exclaimed between chortles, referring to my unwitting decapitation of my prey and I frowned—it wasn't funny! It was gruesome and cruel, _I_ had been the one to do it, and worse yet, I had _liked it. _Maybe not the actually head-ripping part itself so much. But I had taken such a profound, cruel pleasure in the aftermath, callously guzzling away at that man's neck that it was an affront to every vestige of humanity I still possessed. Enjoying hurting someone else to such a lofty degree went against everything that I had once, and still hoped to stand for—it made me feel cold and inhuman… sociopathic… criminal…

Thinking about what I had done made my eyes fill with fluid until it felt like they were going to burst, obscuring everything in my vision with a thick, gooey white veil. Because vampires were physically unable to cry, though, not a single drop spilled over my flawless cheeks, and I was surprised to find that, without any proper outlet for my venomy tears, it physically hurt to be brimming with them.

Of course, the pulsing, stinging in my eyes did nothing to stop my emotional pain, and I found myself choking on a sob. I didn't want to sound completely pathetic, especially in front of such skeptical onlookers—I was certain I would lose all credibility as vampirekind's only hope in Caius' and Jane's eyes if I broke down crying over one measly human. But the more I struggled to contain my agony, the more it seemed to slip past my defenses. Eventually I was unable to prevent myself from full-on weeping (well, as much as a vampire _could_ weep, that is) and I buried my face in my bloodied hands instinctively to shield myself from the harsh scrutiny of the others in the room.

"You had honorable intentions, I am sure," Aro continued understandingly, his laughter abruptly ceasing and his voice softening in response to my increasingly louder wails of sorrow. He seemed to understand that his attempts to lighten the mood weren't working and so he rapidly switched tactics. "To be concerned for your victim's pain while your instincts are so new and strong is practically unheard of," he revealed with a tone of reverential awe.

His eyes sparkled towards the ceiling with unbridled wonder for a moment before he came back to earth and drifted a few feet forward in my direction. His sudden closeness caused me to momentarily stop bawling and raise my head to stare dubiously at him. He looked genuinely concerned now, all of his humor at my expense gone, replaced with a mournful compassion.

"I am flattered that you see my methods as worthy of imitation. But perhaps you should learn greater control before you attempt to be humane," he advised in a gentle voice before casting his twinkling gaze around the room at the sizable mess I had created. "It's a pity to see so much good sustenance wasted," he added with a tinge of mild disappointment, as though the ridiculous spill I had caused was merely a glass of spilt milk which, although better avoided, was really nothing to fuss over.

I was dumbfounded by his response—really I had expected a greater lecture about the importance of learning to feed less sloppily, given his personal conviction to avoid squandering human life when it was taken. But as he drew back and glided gracefully around the disastrous scene, he was completely uncaring about the blood seeping into the gold-embroidered hem of his robes as they swept soundlessly over the wet floor or that which was still sprayed across his face. This jarred me until, I remembered that he had probably dealt with much worse gory explosions during his many millennia of experience and that this room probably _was_ spilt milk in comparison. Trying to imagine what horrific spreads of violence he must have seen to make today's accident seem so inconsequential made my head spin—I knew he had been born in a more violent time when war was expected, sought after, and gloried in rather than avoided like the plague unless there were no other options, but still…

…wasn't the carnage I had spilled serious? Did it not make me a murderer—worse, a cold-blooded one? Was not my ecstasy at instigating that human's death enough incrimination to warrant severe punishment? I knew that Aro wouldn't be the one to deal it—he found no faults in following his instincts down the easiest path of satiation—but was there not something fundamentally wrong with what I had done? Or was it really just fine and dandy to be a killer? Philosophizing about the subject was one thing, because when one was emotionally distant from the subject it was remarkably easy to justify causing another's death. But having actually taken a life today, having errant splotches of his blood still damp on my savage hands, was another beast entirely—it was not so simple then as to say to myself that it was "only natural" or that I honestly shouldn't be held accountable for merely trying to survive. Because when it was personal, your heart got involved and screwed up all your beautifully crafted persuasive statements.

And my heart most definitely was not okay with this—other people could be killers and that was a pill I could reluctantly swallow, but me? Carrying that label myself was a much heavier burden than I had anticipated, especially when I had prided myself in being an all-around non-violent person for so long. Attaching myself with such a moniker made me feel slimy—alien.

Isabella the killer? Was that who I was now?

_No way,_ _I can't be her, _I internally protested, my darkly reddened hands, however, told another story.

"Have you drank your fill?" Aro interrupted my thoughts suddenly with his utterly mundane question, as though he was simply asking if I wanted him to pass me the mashed potatoes or something. His casual inquiry about something so momentous shook me, and I quickly glanced away from him so that he wouldn't see the venom shining in my eyes again as I realized that yes, I was satisfied physically, but oh what an awful thing I had done to get there.

"I am certain that Felix could..." he paused, searching for the most delicate wording, "...fetch you another if you are still thirsty," Aro offered politely, gesturing towards his bulky guard who nodded stoically in affirmation that indeed he could do precisely that if asked.

Stroking my neck gingerly in search of any lingering fire and straining to forget the image of the detached head from my mind I asked: "But wasn't that the last person Heidi brought…?" _Hunting in the city is forbidden so where are they going to get this other person from? _I wondered, perplexed by an offer that I failed to see how Aro could deliver on. I didn't really want him to deliver—I think I had stomached enough death for one day—but my insatiable curiosity got the better of me once again.

"Ah, but we have maids, and secretaries…" Aro reminded me with a contorted smile, leaving me to deduce exactly how his previous offer and this cryptic sentence were related. The feathery caress of his voice made me shiver—especially as I realized what he meant. Apparently the humans that the Volturi employed were the "emergency supply" of blood if Heidi failed to bring enough food to the table.

I remembered Gianna, the receptionist and how clear it was to me that she was serving the Volturi under the futile hope of eventually becoming immortal herself—the way Aro abused his secretaries' undying devotion to him made me sick. Had I still been human, I was pretty sure that everything that had recently occurred would have caused me to faint, but thankfully my current state of well-nourished immortality prevented such an embarrassing collapse. Instead the stress just churned my stomach, and before I knew it, I felt bile rising fast in my throat, threatening to dredge up and violently expel the remainder of undigested blood lingering in my system.

Doubling over and clutching my chest, I was ready to cough it all up, but thankfully Alice tactfully intervened before I got completely serious about retching violently onto the silky bedsheets, grabbing me by the wrist and dragging me forcefully towards the door. "Nope, she's definitely full," Alice supplied succinctly in my stead without any room for argument as she rapidly lead me away from the nausea-triggering scene of my first kill into the ancient stone corridor. "Let's keep it that way, shall we?" She called back towards them as we moved swiftly down the old empty hall before turning to me with a look of genuine, sisterly worry in her bright red eyes.

"Are you alright, Bella?" Alice asked once we were a fair distance away from the traumatic disaster zone—it wasn't until her question however that I realized that I was visibly trembling and scratching hatefully at my own skin like I wanted to tear it off of me.

Pausing to cease my guilty itching and stilling my disturbed shaking, I nodded numbly in response and averted my glossy eyes even though I most definitely was not okay. Alice looked wholly unconvinced, but said nothing and merely continued to offer a silent shoulder of support as she led me through the torchlit, sienna halls. As we walked, I tried to banish the gory flashbacks that were bombarding my guilt-ridden mind and stay focused on thinking of every possible way to reduce the nausea that was threatening to expunge all lose fluids from my system. Knowing that vomiting would only necessitate a traumatic repeat of today's violent activities, I realized that it was probably in my best interest to make every effort to relax until the hot flush in my cheeks faded so that I didn't lose the half-lunch I had just recently gained.

To be forced to feed again so soon—that would be the ultimate disaster.

...particularly because Aro, for some unknown reason, was wary of drinking blood that wasn't directly from the source, which would mean that if I became thirsty again, I would be forced to kill someone else—and I really didn't think that my fragile sanity could handle causing _two_ human deaths in one day.

The first thing I deduced in my attempts to still my churning stomach, was that talking was completely out of the question. I didn't dare speak, fearing that if I dared to open my mouth that my recent meal would come pouring out without warning.

So rather than strike up a riveting conversation with Alice as I clung to her petite, but incredibly steady frame, we strode together in perfect silence, except for the echoing _clack-clack _of her inky black stilettos against the warm beige floor. I was utterly shell-shocked from recent events, so I wasn't paying any attention to our surroundings as Alice guided me slowly through the dusty stone hallways, but I trusted her to lead me somewhere safe in this labyrinth of a castle so that I could hopefully escape (at least for a while) the horrible reality of what I had become.

But as Alice dragged me around a while longer towards some unknown destination I quickly became distracted from my worries as I had hoped when I noticed something silvery glinting around her neck, which eventually I recognized as the same V-shaped, ruby-encrusted pendant that the rest of the guard wore—a definitive sign that she was now considered a more-or-less permanent part of the Volturi. I knew that Aro didn't hand out these pendants willy-nilly, but I couldn't help but wonder what sort of initiation was necessary in order to get one—was there some sort of vampire fitness test she had to pass? A loyalty creed she had to sign? Some creepy blood ritual or something? Because whatever it was, chances were that I would have to endure it as well and I wanted to know what I was in for.

"Alice…" I began, before trailing off. I was uncertain as to how to best approach the question of when and how she had been bequeathed with the Volturi pendant and become an official member of the guard. There was no way for sure to know whether or not it would be sensitive subject—surely Aro wasn't so demented as to make Alice do something atrocious to get it, right?

A number of terrifying possibilities flickered before my hyperactively violent imagination, threatening to disturb my stomach contents, before I viciously shook the horrific thoughts from my mind.

"Bella, don't worry about the dress," Alice cut in unexpectedly, assuming that my trepidation was related to the destroyed article of clothing still tightly hugging my shapely body. "I knew it was going to be ruined anyway," was her chipper reassurance that all was well despite the destruction I had caused. "I just wanted your first appearance as one of us to be special, that's all."

"Oh… okay." I muttered lamely, not really thinking about the dress at the moment, but rather trying to purge Aro's cackling visage from my inner view. Sure it was a disaster, I knew that from just looking at it, ruffles all askew and smeared in blood, but with Alice's new clothing budget I figured she saw pretty much every article of clothing as disposable, no matter how ludicrously costly. I disagreed with that philosophy on principle—to buy something so expensive with the express intention of destroying it seemed offensively frivolous—but the dress was spilt water compared to my excessive wasting of blood.

"Can I take a shower? I asked, curling my blood-coated fingers and twitching my spattered shoulders uncomfortably. "And you know… get something else to wear?" I added, looking distastefully down at my gorily decorated dress, very self-conscious about how saturated my clothes and scent were with human fear and death. I decided to let the issue of her pendant drop for now, figuring I didn't want the answer now anyway on the off-chance that it was only bequeathed after the completion of some unpleasant deed.

Alice pulled me up a narrow, winding staircase, "Sure, I stocked your closet," she replied casually as she whisked me into a bright, freshly scented room just at the top of the stairs. It was furnished with a large four-poster bed draped in dark purple, a matching vanity, a full-length mirror, and the most enormous walk-in closet I had ever seen—it was basically a garage—filled to the bursting point with an entirely new, Alice-approved wardrobe.

"And there are plenty of jeans in there, don't worry," Alice assured me as my eyes hovered over the row of lavish gowns in the very front with a furrowed brow. "I know how much you hate dressing up."

"…Thanks…" was about all I could manage as I scanned the many shelves of shoes inset in the back of the closet, many of which were ludicrously high heels I swore I would never wear, but most of which were actually sensible, cute flats, which I much preferred. A lot of what I was seeing was more Alice's style than mine, but as I looked a little more closely, it was obvious that Alice had made her best effort to be considerate of my fashion complaints (no heels, no dresses) and provide me with plenty of stylish alternatives that I would actually wear in addition to the stuff she would obviously love to see me in, but I would definitely avoid unless it was strictly mandatory. As I paced back towards the row of jeans, mostly black with the occasional red or grey pair to fit the Volturi status-quo, but in varying styles to offer versatility, I felt a blossom of appreciation for her stylistic talents. The jeans looked like they would be both flattering and comfortable, which always seemed to be an impossible compromise.

"No problem," Alice supplied with a quick quirk of her dark painted lips, before she walked over to the elegant oak bedside table, grabbed a small face towel that was resting there and wiped away the few droplets of blood that had managed to splatter across her face. "The bathtub is in there," she offered, gesturing towards an ornately carved wooden door just a few feet away before tossing me a big, fluffy purple bath towel which matched my bedding.

I didn't need any further prompting—I felt dirty in this ruined dress and hoped that by cleaning away all evidence of the ghastly murder I had just committed that I could pretend that it simply hadn't happened. That the traumatizing experience of brutally ripping off that man's head and clinging on to it until I was finished feeding must have been just a crazy nightmare and when I awoke I could go back to being normal, to being human again, right?

Except that I wasn't human—my reflection in the bathroom mirror very alarmingly reminded me of that fact. Crimson eyes, perfect porcelain skin which refracted dim rainbows under the bright white lights, smooth, angular features, and blood… so much blood dried in crusty splotches all over my face, shoulders, and of course the dress. _And I will never be human ever again, _I noted inwardly with no small amount of dismay, I was stuck a vampire, an undead, human-drinking immortal forever, and it was jarring how much that the realization of this fact distressed me. There were still perks—parts of vampirism I was certain I would continue to enjoy—but I was utterly unprepared for the sudden, unshakable urge I felt to mourn the passing of my mortality. I had always envisioned that the transition from mortal to vampire would be smoother, more unequivocally positive and devoid of the severe identity-crisis I was currently undergoing.

In a bizarre way, it felt sort of like missing your childhood—adulthood was fantastic, affording all sorts of great opportunities that had once only been a fervent dream. But childhood was great in its own ways too, carefree and full of optimistic wonder in a way that adulthood never quite could be.

Only this was much worse—adults generally didn't have to worry about eating other people's children.

And I definitely did.

_It's okay, this will just take some getting used to_, I tried to reassure myself as I padded quickly over to the large, surprisingly modern-looking bathtub and yanked so hard on the zipper on the back of my dress that the garment simply tore in half with a dramatic _rrrrriiiiiiiip _and fell in tatters to the tawny tiled floor. _You're just fine—nothing's changed except you're now Isabella the vampire, rather than Bella the human. _I reasoned with myself as I hastily scratched off my undergarments, shredding them as well, not having any clue how to remove them without destroying them since I was so ridiculously strong now. Not to mention that I really couldn't bring myself to care—I was too anxious to get clean, as if purging my skin of the bloodstains would simultaneously expunge the rotten feelings growing in my heart—and seriously doubted I would ever want to wear those clothes ever again with what I had done in them.

The memories…

I shuddered as the man's pleading face resurfaced in my mind and I remembered how coldheartedly I had gulped down his blood—it had felt so good at the time, and in the midst of the heady intoxication the sensations had caused my all-too-willing body I had foolishly supposed that the incredible experience of the high it gave me would be more than enough to compensate for the more unsavory consequences of my actions. Oh how wrong I had been…

_It's no big deal._ I reasoned weakly, placing my hands defiantly on my bare hips in order to convince myself._ You just will never sleep or eat human food or be able to casually enjoy the sunlight ever again, not to mention you're now addicted to the fruits of murder, _the pessimistic voice in my head reminded me.

I angrily turned the hardy, polished metal knobs atop the bathtub, accidentally crumpling them in my hands as I once again forgot my ridiculous strength. I was about to panic as I saw the polished grey metal bend and flatten under my scarlet-stained fingers—_I need this bath now_—but thankfully the water turned on without a fuss, streaming steadily into the porcelain basin, even though I had ruined the bathroom fixtures in the process.

_I hope Aro wasn't too attached to this bathtub, either… _I thought bitterly, disgusted with myself for being so brutally strong that I had destroyed everything I had touched thus far today. _Though,_ _it's_ _not like breaking the bathtub knobs is the end of the world…_ I started to think before I remembered why Aro had agreed to turn me into a vampire in the first place.

_But if I don't succeed in my mission, it might be the end of the world… at least as it is now… _I recalled grimly as the bathtub filled quickly with hot water, steam rising in lazy spiraling tendrils around my face. _No, I can't worry about that now. I already decided to go through with this, despite the costs. _I chided myself, shaking an angry fist at myself for allowing this to get to me when I had so resolutely told Edward in the throne room that I wouldn't mind being a human-drinker and the crux of every living vampire's hopes._ I can worry about preventing extinction later, right now I just need to relax and get clean. _

Deciding to test the heat of the water before I filled the tub any more, I slowly dipped a hand into the six or so inches of water that had built up within the smooth white walls, and immediately drew back in surprise. It hadn't really sunk into my unconscious mind yet that my body was a drastically different temperature now, and so I was startled to discover that the usual abundance of warmth that I had preferred in my bathwater as a human was now uncomfortably, scalding-hot. I was fairly certain that my new, marble-esque skin was resilient enough not to actually burn under these circumstances. But the hot water reminded me far too much of the hot blood that had poured down my throat and splashed over my body earlier today, so I quickly—but carefully—turned the crushed water valves to give me colder water until the bathwater was uncomfortably icy by human standards, but pleasantly perfect for me.

When the bath was filled I turned off the water and carefully slipped in, sighing in relief as the warm (compared to me) water washed refreshingly over my tense muscles and laid my head back, trying to banish all thought and simply enjoy the water. For several minutes I simply lied still, soaking in the sensation with my overly-perceptive eyes softly shut, and made every honest effort to relax. But after a while of making futile attempts to ignore the heavy scent of dried blood still fogging the otherwise freshly scented air, I realized that I was never going to be fully at ease until I erased every last trace of the incriminating substance.

Abruptly opening my eyes, I reached fumblingly for the brand-new bar of vanilla-scented soap resting on the edge of the tub in a little ornate dish and began scrubbing vigorously at the many splotches of blood caked onto my hands, shoulders and face. As I viciously rubbed the once-white cleansing instrument back and forth across my foreign skin, my pale lips twisted into a grim smile of satisfaction when I realized that the taint was putting up no measurable resistance, and easily peeled away with little force. I watched intently as the substance flaked and spotted the pure water with bits of dark crimson, grimacing as the red made the man's petrified face flash before my eyes again, and his sick bargains sounded resonantly again in my mind.

"_Wait! WAIT! Please… don't kill me" _I heard him scream out desperately as the entire stock of sensory experiences from that memory resurfaced in my brain. "_I won't tell anyone anything, I swear! Just let me go." _He promised, his hysterical voice cracking with emotion, and his wild eyes throwing frantic looks in every direction in search of any remotely sympathetic face, though among the impassive Volturi he found none.

I pursed my lips guiltily as his words vibrated in my ears and rubbed at my skin harder.

"_O-or I could help you... find others… and, you know, be the bait to bring other people here so you could… them instead of me," _he counter-offered, unwilling to say aloud exactly what his undead captors intended to do with him. And as I tried to wash away his death from my body I shivered, knowing full well that his arguments were in vain. The faces of the six other vampires huddled before me in my mind's eye were completely unmoved by his bargain, and so he abruptly switched tactics yet again.

"_If it's my blood you're after, why don't you… you know, keep me around. Blood grows back, you know… I could be like… part of your own private blood bank or something," _he vainly tried to reason in my memories. But again he was faced with cold, disapproving stares from other six vampires in the room.

"_That girl too… you could have kept her alive… we could have had kids… and it'd be like… a farm…" _He added, somewhat uncertainly in my mind's eye, though with no less urgency or anxiety in his voice—but I had been too absorbed in fighting my thirst at the time, battling back the maddening, scorching flame in my throat to really empathize with his struggle until now.

The whole whole tub-worth was now stained a pale pinkish color, and my skin was finally purged, glistening porcelain again, but I hardly noticed, continuing my scrubbing at the same relentless speed and intensity.

"_I don't care if you treat me like livestock, JUST LET ME LIVE!" _He bellowed, causing me to clutch my ears in pain, before he began sobbing brokenly and struggling pitifully in Felix's completely unyielding grasp to escape, especially as Caius shot a murderous glare in his direction.

_"Please…" _He choked out in a soft, wet whisper which made me cringe and curl up defensively in a ball except for one arm, which slathered the soap fiercely, hatefully against where his blood had once lied against my inhuman flesh. "_…just_ _let me live…"_

I growled at myself, furious with my actions and the totally selfish way I had conducted them and scrubbed at my skin faster to banish the filthy feeling that seemed to saturate every cell of my unfamiliar body. But no matter how quickly or vigorously I moved the object clenched in a death-grip in my hands, none of my enthusiastic cleansing efforts helped to rid me of the dirtiness I felt inside.

_"Just let me live!" _I heard the man plea one last time in my sensitive ears before the recollection rapidly turned violent, and my vision was sprayed over with thick, bright red. The unnerving duet of savagery and satisfaction which followed came back to me in perfect, unfiltered detail, as though it was happening all over again in real life—an unfortunate consequence of my now impeccable memory—and in agony of heart, I cried out, my melodic scream echoing brightly off the white tiled walls.

Hearing my scream, Alice burst into the room without warning and immediately the gory vision dissipated, the sterile bathroom swirling clearly into focus, and I felt nothing but an overwhelming self-consciousness again. Remembering that I was naked, I swiftly scrambled to cover myself, sloshing up waves of soapy water as I did so, before I realized that the entire tub, myself included was buried in salmon-colored bubbles, and Alice couldn't see anything embarrassing anyway. Regardless, Alice didn't seem terribly concerned about my modesty at the moment.

Instead her vibrant red eyes were affixed fearfully to my left shoulder, which I was still mindlessly scouring with the bloodstained soap bar, even though the skin beneath it had long been washed clean. And before I could ascertain precisely why that area of my body held interest to her, she darted forward and snatched the begrimed rectangle out of my unprepared hand, throwing it vindictively in the trash can beside the sink, as though the instrument had personally, deeply offended her.

But even more jarring than Alice's merciless condemnation of an inanimate object was the acidic berating that followed. "Bella, what are you doing!" she hissed angrily, seizing my bubble-covered right arm and twisting it forcefully away from where it was still rubbing irritably at my left shoulder, despite the absence of soap.

Upset by the harsh, bodily handling that was going on, I was about to try to wrestle my arm away from her firm clenching when I realized three things that made me stop. The first was that I was stronger now—I could probably actually fight Alice off if I really wanted to, and if Aro was right about the sheer level of strength I would possess as a human-fed newborn, then I would likely accidentally end up hurtling her across the room, which, given that I didn't really want to hurt her or crack the back wall, was a bad idea. The second was that a fight would likely drag me out of the bathtub, and I really had no desire to be so completely exposed right now. And the third was that something horribly jagged, red and faintly glistening had caught my eye as I had turned my head toward my shoulder to see what all the fuss was about.

At first, I had absolutely no idea what I was looking at—it looked like the inside of a geode, filled with lots of little sparkling crystals, but it was the wrong color, a vivid pinkish red like pinched cheeks and there were definite groves carved into it. Like something very strong had cut bluntly back and forth across it many, many times. Bewildered, I gently prodded it with a single finger, taking in the foreign, angular texture and was surprised to feel a jolt of pain traveling up my shoulder in direct response to my touch.

"Alice… what's on my shoulder?" I timidly asked, experimentally stroking the unfamiliar ridges again. Once again I was bewildered that I felt a distinct, raw sensory response like I was touching my own, rug-burned skin.

"Bella," Alice began hesitantly, with a hint of incredulity that I hadn't figured it out yet. "That _is _your shoulder," she revealed slowly, backing away gradually as the words left her painted lips in order to give me ample room for her declaration to sink in.

I twisted fiercely to examine the surrounding area, horrified to discover that, yes, what I had presumed to be some random collection of pinkish crystals growing on my shoulder was actually, in fact, the raw and jagged surface of my skin. The smooth, outer layer had been mostly scratched away as a result of my overzealous effort to sanitize myself. It looked like I had taken a sheet of industrial-grade sandpaper to it—so I shrieked again, though this time in surprise rather than self-abhorrence.

"How?" I inarticulately demanded of Alice as I protectively cradled my scraped injury. "I mean wouldn't the soap break before…?"

I really didn't see how it was possible for me to have hurt myself, my ludicrously impenetrable self, with a measly bar of soap—with my own hands, sure, but with soap?

Alice sighed in exasperation before she knelt calmly beside the bubble-smothered tub and summarily fished the red-caked soap-bar in question out of the trash can. She hefted it above my head into the light where it glittered dimly under the bright white lights, refracting tiny rainbows through the blood like my skin.

"Normal soap isn't hard enough to be very efficient when it comes to cleaning vampires," Alice explained educationally, still holding the besmirched object aloft as her harmonious words registered in my distraught mind. "I saw that you would want to get clean as soon as possible, so Aro and I decided to craft a soap that was hard enough to work quickly. We laced it with diamonds," she added, as though the Volturi just had a bunch of the rare rocks lying around—which they probably did, come to think about it, they _were_ preposterously wealthy. "But I had no idea that you were going to try and take your skin off with it!" Alice finished with a combination of reproach for my stupidity and self-directed anger for her lack of foresight on this issue.

"It's not like I decided to…" I weakly supplied, grimacing as I looked back over the jagged landscape of my shoulder, recalling how single-mindedly I had been trying to wash away the death I had just caused, without ever entertaining the possibility that I might actually cause further damage. And honestly, who would ever stop to think that maybe their soap was made with diamond powder and therefore dangerously coarse? That was a completely abnormal situation—and my lack of knowledge about it, and the mindlessness with which I had scoured my skin had made Alice unable to see the potential danger. Her powers couldn't see anything that wasn't consciously decided, after all.

"You're right, I should have told you," Alice conceded regretfully with another soft sigh and gently shook her head before extending a tiny, pale hand in my direction in invitation. For a few moments I was too stunned by everything that had happened since my awakening as a vampire to respond and simply stared uncomprehendingly at the glistening appendage offered to me.

Alice seemed to erroneously believe that my hesitation was born from shame, rather than pure shock—probably even some post-traumatic-stress, too—and hastily reiterated her apology,"It's fine. Just don't do it again, okay?" Her unsettlingly crimson eyes shone with true concern.

Even though I was terribly shaken by what had transpired in these last five days (which actually felt more like several decades in my mind, and less than twenty-four hours to my body) I now realized that Alice genuinely cared for me like a sister. Despite my pivotal role, I wasn't just a pawn in her schemes, as I had been for Edward, and she was trying her very best to balance my needs with the greater good in order to make sure that everything in my future and everyone else's' worked out in the best possible way. It was a tough balance, and I was still highly wary of the idea of fully relying on her—Alice of the Volturi was in many ways a completely different person than Alice Cullen. But as I sat amid the bloody bubbles staring ponderously at Alice's inviting hand, I decided at the very least that she wasn't an immediate threat, and slipped my wet fingers slowly atop hers.

As our warm hands collided, the slick sensation fascinating my sharp senses, vaguely, I felt the sensation of my head bobbing in response to her previous inquiry.

But in reality I wasn't actually sure if I could comply with Alice's request—I was in a serious identity-crisis, terrified of my own reflection, and felt sick in my own skin.

I wanted to scratch it all away: peel back all the hard layers, and bring back the soft, vulnerable Bella I had once been—but I couldn't.

She was dead.

There was only me now—whoever that was.


	26. Epilogue

**AN: And here it is! The last chapter of the Luxury of Mercy... I honestly can't believe I've made it this far. Seriously, can any of you believe that I set out to write this as a one-shot? Just one conversation between Aro and Bella about why he eats humans... well it became a lot more than that, but I'm so glad. Be sure to stick around for the sequel-it promises to be very action-packed, which you'll get a small taste of at the end. :)**

**Also, the Italian words (there's only 2) in this chapter will be explained in the sequel. Or you could just use Google translate if you're really that curious. ;) **

**And I should note that I really think that the idea that Bella is suddenly not clumsy when she becomes a vampire is silly**—**if she never learned how to control her human body, why would she be any better with her vampire body? It's brand spanking new, and _ludicrously strong_, so she's bound to really suck at managing it for a while. ;)**

**Update: 6/16/2015 The Preface of the Desolation of Mercy is up! So you get a double-update! **

* * *

**Epilogue **

After sincerely apologizing for laughing at my "mistake", admitting that it was insensitive of him to do so, despite the irony of the situation, Aro most generously kept his distance after my first meal, allowing me some time alone to come to terms with my new identity as a vampire. His decision to abruptly cease interfering with my life was initially quite shocking, given recent events, and especially the upcoming confrontation with the newborn army in Seattle—which I knew the entire coven expected me to whole-heartedly participate in. But it did go a long way to verify that he actually cared about me more profoundly than just as an intriguing collectible.

Alice too, surprisingly complied with little fuss to Aro's new laissez faire policy, further proving that they were both genuinely considerably worried for my all aspects of my welfare (physical, mental, and emotional). And from the way I had once (unbeknownst to them) caught the powerful duo discussing this choice, I could tell that Alice and Aro were quite frightened that they had botched my first meal horribly, and weren't too keen on the prospect of wrecking their relationships with myself with any further meddling, at least for the time being.

I was immensely thankful for their mutually agreed resolution to leave me be for a while, because I was absolutely certain I couldn't bear their intrusive scrutiny right now, and also because I was currently rather infuriated with the pair. Treating my first meal—an unavoidably traumatizing and messy affair—like a black-tie party, laughing hysterically at my vain attempt to be merciful, and putting the icing on the misery-cake by providing me with a sandpapery bar of soap without warning… All these things seemed to demonstrate that the pair was secretly more callous than they presently appeared.

Intellectually, I understood that they really had been trying since the beginning to make my transition as smooth as possible—that their efforts on March 24th had been done with good intentions—Alice had been trying to help me feel special for those first moments and wanted to help me get clean a lot quicker after I fed, and Aro had been trying to lighten the mood when I started emotionally falling apart—even if the execution of their efforts hadn't quite panned out like they'd hoped. But a small part of me wanted to be angry at them for the fiasco anyway, to saddle them with all the dark weight pressing on my shoulders, instead of myself.

But grudgingly I had to acknowledge, after a few hours of seething, that they truly had done everything within their immense power to make me comfortable with the whole gruesome affair, and that my _real_ problem with all of this was facing the beast they'd helped me become. Because no matter what they had, or hadn't done that day, it wouldn't really make a profound difference in the end. At the end of the day I was still a monster, whose human clumsiness had only tripled in dangerousness with my transformation, and yet who was also burdened with the momentous responsibility of protecting an entire species form certain destruction.

No degree of sensitivity could change that.

No amount of considerate behavior could alter the fact that I had killed a man—that still didn't sound right, whether I voiced that disconcerting truth aloud, or it only resonated incriminatingly in my mind—nor could it save me from doing it again, eventually. Even though I labored hard to deny such a thing was necessary, striving to invent some impossible solution which would allow me to circumvent that inevitable reality, it was inevitable. And so at length I was forced, by my own logical thought processes, to forgive the pair for their well-intended actions.

I couldn't harbor a grudge against Aro for making me into a vampire because, well, I had asked for it. It was strange that something that had once seemed so desirable was so despicable now that I had actually tasted it for myself—but that wasn't his fault. He _had_ tried to warn me numerous times that it would be unpleasant, with all of the memories he had shared with me in the throne room, I just thought I could handle it, and didn't really see any other choice.

I could no longer be upset with Alice and Aro's failed attempts to make the experience of my first feed more palatable, either. I still felt a little uneasy that Alice had tactfully manipulated me over several decades to get me here, and Aro's wild mood swings kind of scared me, but their combined efforts had generally turned out in my favor. They had only been trying to help, and if I hadn't been such a klutz, or had so much unpredictable, self-destructive angst, they would have achieved their goals.

So really everything was all my fault.

Which of course it was, because my current reality dictated that I must be a failure, an abomination, a lawless, heartless, bloodthirsty creature.

But I didn't agree with reality, I didn't want it—and so, in absence of possessing a gift like Carlisle's which could instantly, subconsciously work to put me at ease with my newfound immortality, instead I simply intellectually rejected the idea that I was a vampire altogether and tried to pretend that I was still human because that was... well, _easier. _

...Except it wasn't easier to pretend when I clumsily shredded my clothes as I tried to gently take them off every night.

Or when I accidentally crushed heavy brass door knobs whilst exploring the castle.

Or when I caught my flawless, red-eyed reflection in a mirror.

Or when I saw my skin glittering in the thin shafts of sunlight that occasionally filtered into certain parts of this fortress.

Or when I realized I hadn't blinked in days, or when I tried to go to sleep, only to discover that I neither possessed the desire, nor capacity.

Or when I touched something that was once freezing cold, but was now much warmer.

Or when I epically tripped down the spiral staircase and escaped completely unscathed.

Or...

Well, you get the picture—most of the time it was impossible to forget that I had been drastically changed.

And so when I couldn't fool my acutely aware brain into thinking that I remained mortal, I limited my efforts to focusing my reminiscing on human memories. Although most were hazy, murky, and dominated primarily by emotion, rather than sensory experience, and many included the facetiously "vegetarian" coven, they were a safe place to be. There I only had to struggle with petty things, like whether I would make an utter fool of myself at prom, or whether my fastly-flourishing friendship with Jacob was a betrayal of Edward—nothing like wondering how on earth I would cope when the time came for my next meal.

That was a whole new level of horrible.

I shuddered, just considering the prospect, because unfortunately my new brain's imagination was extremely vivid, sensate and sadistically reveled in the most disgusting of details. Like the way my next victim's terrified, flailing hands would slap powerlessly against my rock-hard grip. The way their scalding flesh would slicken with fearful sweat. How the pitch of their gasping, desperate howls would grow higher as my teeth sank further into their flimsy neck. And how eerily limp their corpse would suddenly become in my frigid arms once I drank enough of their blood.

And although such things horrified my gentle heart, the savage creature newly born inside of me was thrilled, perhaps even _aroused_ by these vicious thoughts—thanatoid desire, is what Aro had called it, when he'd enquired as to whether or not Carlisle felt such a thing. And apparently, if his early thoughts as a newborn were any indication, the "vegetarian" doctor had experienced those same cruel, violent feelings, which seemed to indicate to me that my recent trains of thought had nothing to do with my actual personality, but were simply inherent to the experience of transformation.

I still hated myself for feeling that way, though. Even when I knew that it wasn't really my fault.

And I was very glad that no one was around to witness my self-loathing—the rest of the Volturi had been issued severe orders to stay out of my way, affording me complete privacy, away from Caius' cold, disapproving eyes, Marcus' bored stares, Renata's wary glances, etc.—because my reaction to vampirism was pathetic, really. It was supposed to be awesome… and yet I spent most of those first few days holed up in my room, trying to fool myself into believing it hadn't happened.

I felt especially self-conscious about my grief when Alice made a solitary exception to Aro's command of complete avoidance after a few days, in order to fill the lushly carpeted floor of my new room with boxes of my old stuff. But although she had definitely noticed the abundance of venom brimming in my scarlet eyes, and seen my forlorn position as I knelt dejectedly, gazing with a sad wishfulness into space, she made no comment, and simply set the abundance of large, shipping boxes carefully on the ground around me, offering only the barest of explanations for her actions, before quickly skipping out the ornately carved wooden door.

Apparently Alice had briefly snuck back into Forks sometime after my transformation to give some suitable excuse to Charlie for my indefinite absence (she wouldn't tell me what she'd told him just yet, only that he still believed I was alive and would continue to contact me) and to retrieve some of my things. Which was both wonderfully considerate of her, and paradoxically painful. Everything Alice had brought back, from the silly old photo album I'd put together before Edward had left, to my favorite CDs, and my much-beloved laptop, was comfortingly familiar. But it was also still faintly covered in my human scent, which I was disturbed to find extremely mouthwatering, despite its weakness.

Aro had said before that the blood that most appealed to us was that which was similar to our human blood… but it was jarring to thirst for my former self just the same.

There was also the fact that I didn't really trust myself to handle any of my old possessions for very long, given my excellent track record with destroying things as of late, and so without opening my computer or my phone I had no idea if Charlie had tried to contact me yet. Instead, I mostly just stared at the last remnants of my human life, sitting untouched in travel-scuffed cardboard boxes next to my four-poster bed and fought back vampire-tears as I remembered everything I had left behind.

I had sacrificed so much—Renee, and Charlie I would probably never see ever again, and I hadn't even been able to give them a proper goodbye. My human friends too—Angela, Jessica, Mike… I wondered what Charlie would tell them about why I suddenly disappeared. What would they think of me for abandoning them so suddenly? Would they miss me at all?

And Jacob—I guess technically as a member of the "supernatural community" as the Volturi called it, he_ could_ be in the know without being given the ultimatum to be changed or die. But knowing that my recent dietary choices would likely destroy everything positive we had once shared, I probably had to give him and the whole Quileute wolf-pack up too.

I had to be careful not to bite my lip in frustration—I could saw through my entire lower lip now if I wasn't careful—I would miss them: Seth, Leah, Quil, Embry, Paul… even Sam, if only because his was a familiar face that I associated with Jacob, with being human, with feeling sane. And as I counted my losses I definitely built up an abundance of venom in my eyes—creating a thick, filmy white veil over my vision that almost never completely went away. And I wailed in despair—a lot.

_This wasn't what I signed up for!_ I chided myself after a while. _I wanted to be strong, fast, and powerful—those were the things I'd seen in the Cullens that made we want vampirism for myself. _

So after spending the first two weeks of my new unlife sitting around pathetically and feeling sorry for myself, with Aro's permission, I decided to get out of the castle to check out the perks of vampirism so that I could remember partly why I had decided to undergo transformation in the first place. He politely but firmly insisted that I take a chaperone whenever I left, (usually Felix, or one of the other, strength-type guards) to ensure my safety and to prevent me from accidentally stumbling upon a human settlement. But my chaperones said virtually nothing during each trip and gave me all the space I needed as I spent the nights running and leaping and smashing dead trees across the Tuscan countryside.

Those nights in the forest were pretty fun, I had to admit. I was impressed with my lightning-fast speed, how I could whip through the trees like a bullet, the incredible spring in my legs which allowed me to soar above the tallest of trees in a single bound, and my absurd strength which allowed me to smash an entire log into itty-bitty splinters with a single punch.

But those experiences, too, quickly soured on me as I happened upon a small herd of deer during one of our outings and recalled with perfect clarity the memory Aro had given me of his unsuccessful attempt at drinking animal blood with Carlisle some three centuries prior. After halting momentarily to stare into a small doe's golden brown eyes as the sensations resurfaced, I bolted back to the underground castle and never returned, afraid to trigger any more vivid flashbacks.

My perfect memory was more of a curse than a blessing, for now.

Instead, I decided after the fourth week to hole up in the dungeons for a while, where I spent my time pounding furiously on the surprisingly sturdy walls and viciously snapping in half the old, rotting and broken furniture and other objects collected there with my bare hands. During this time I craved a lifeline, someone to give me a shoulder to… well… go all venomy-eyed on… and to reassure me that I was neither a ferocious beast for killing a man nor a terrible failure of a vampire for having so much angst about it. But although many were willing (Alice, Aro, and surprisingly even Athenodora offered) I didn't really feel like they would understand. Especially not when I had so recently watched them all feed, Alice without the slightest indication of sorrow or guilt, and the other two with only fleeting moments of concern before their worries were completely swept away in the exhilarating rush of ecstasy.

None of the Volturi had any idea—at least that's what I had thought for several weeks until Alice "incidentally" crossed paths with me in the hall one day on my way to another therapeutic furniture-smashing session and explained. She said that_ almost_ all vampires went through the same stages of grief as humans did, and that my initial denial of vampirism, and current furiousness with it were not unusual feelings.

That made sense, I guess. But she also said that our emotional reactions to situations didn't really change with the transformation, they just got more intense. And that meant that everything I found a little uncomfortable as a human was absolutely unbearable as a vampire. Which was, of course, _exactly _what I needed when I was attempting to radically alter my moral framework.

Not.

But it did help to know that Alice's remarkably easy adjustment to vampirism was an anomaly. Of all the vampires that had ever resided within these ancient fortress walls, Alice held the all-time record for taking the shortest time to get over the self-loathing that pretty much inevitably ensued after realizing that hunting and slaughtering human beings was the new dietary requirement. According to her own account—and Aro had verified its accuracy through his gift—Alice had only spent a few minutes after her first kill despairing about the horrible creature she had become before she had dismissed such feelings as childish with minimal fuss and not felt a shred of remorse for killing to eat ever since. Caius, I was surprised to learn came in second place, embracing his predatory nature after several hours of angst following his first meal—although it was nearly impossible for me to imagine the ancient icy vampire mourning the loss of human life at all—and he was practically tied with Jane, who also was rather disturbed after her first meal, but shook herself out of it after a few angry outbursts and her discovery that she could make anyone crumple to the floor in paralyzing agony with a single glare.

Heidi was third, spending only two days in black despair before she fully accepted her new self and was able to hunt without negative emotional repercussions, and Chelsea came in not too far behind, spending only a week before she came round. Alec, Afton, Demetri, Felix, Sulpicia, Corin, Renata, Marcus and many of the more transitory members took a month or two, until their second or third kill to really get comfortable, which seemed to be the typical adjustment period. But Athenodora and Renata had taken longer—six months for the latter, and eighteen for the former—before they were able to feed without feeling guilty afterwards, and even more atypical were the cases of Carmen and Eleazar who had taken a few years to adjust, but had eventually settled nicely into the orthodox lifestyle before Carlisle had introduced the toxic hope that they might not have to kill humans into Carmen's mind

Of those who were still currently part of the Volturi, Aro had taken the longest—which, knowing the pain he felt from his gift, was really no surprise—spending his first year in utter despair, his second in angsty half-tolerance, and the rest of the decade still frequently besieged with remorse until he transformed his late sister, Didyme, which was when he finally fully accepted himself and henceforth was only fleetingly troubled in the midst of a kill. But although his partially still on-going struggle had given him great patience with those whom found adjusting to vampirism more difficult than others, the longevity of his pain was still far out-shone by Carlisle, who of course, had never gotten over it—to this day he still combatted the integral part of himself that craved human blood instead of embracing it.

And so it seemed that vampires typically adjusted to their new lives somewhere between a few weeks and a year. Any less than this was uncanny, and seemed to be highly correlated with a massive degree of sadism—with the exception of Alice, who had mostly acclimated as quickly as she had because of her visions. But any more seemed to indicate that the issue was less likely to ever be permanently resolved—as was certainly the case with Carmen, possibly Aro (though he coped very well) and most definitely Carlisle.

There were a few outliers of course.

The newborns involved in Carlisle's experiments were difficult to place because their first meals were far from traditional. But having had several months to come to terms with the fact that they were definitely no longer human and the only nourishment that would suffice was human blood, all of them adjusted smoothly into traditional vampirism without any later regret for taking human life at all.

Edward and the other Cullens who drank human blood were also hard to place because they had dealt with their guilt by only hunting lowlifes, wretches and criminals, whom they didn't see as deserving of a chance at life as "regular" humans.

And Aro's twins didn't really count in the line-up either because they had been raised as vampires. Neither of them had ever experienced or been taught to value humanity the same way that the rest of the guard once had, so they had never felt any guilt over taking human life either.

But the general principle still stood—those who spent too long hating themselves for eating people had a hard time ever letting go of those feelings. Those who let go of those destructive emotions faster and more quickly embraced their inner animal had much happier outcomes, although it was a twisted happiness. And while I would love to say that I was one of those lucky vampires that had dismissed their foolish human tendencies towards regretting their kills within the week and never fretted about such trivial matters any longer, while somehow simultaneously retaining my compassionate soul, the truth was much less glamorous.

I was now well into the seventh week of immortality and I still wasn't anywhere near over it.

Initially I had hoped to get a grip on these feelings before I began to participate in normal activities with the rest of the guard, mostly because I had an inkling that the more sadistic members of the Volturi would roll their eyes at my significant struggle, which would only serve to make me more furious. But just as I was making my way towards the dungeons one night to break some more old garbage, Aro caught me in the hallway, his lean frame cased from head to toe in tight, black leathery fighting clothes, and insisted that I finally begin battle-preparations with the others.

When he first announced that we couldn't afford to wait any longer and that consequently he expected me to come to the upper hall immediately I was outraged that he would dare to attempt to control my time when I felt so out-of-control on every other front, being in the anger-phase of my grieving process. Acting in my unbridled fury, I seized him tightly around the middle, hoisted his entire body effortlessly above my head, and in one fluid movement I hurled him across the room.

I had thrown him with such force that he didn't even have time to cry out before his back smacked hard against the far wall, some fifty-yards away. A hair-raising _crack_ echoed throughout the hall as he collided with the hard stones, and after leaving a large impression and a spider-web of fissures in the rock from his impact, Aro suddenly crumpled to the floor.

At first I was grimly satisfied as I watched him fall unceremoniously to the ground, curl unnaturally against the ancient stones, and lie motionless in obvious pain. But my eyes soon widened with immense fear as I realized after several seconds that Aro still wasn't getting up.

I regretted my decision immediately.

However, as I was rushing forward like a rocket to make sure he was okay and offer my sincerest apologies, Renata, Aro's bodyguard, who was never too far away from him at any given time, mistook my racing towards her master as a sign of attack. She launched herself deftly in front of me, and held out two forbidding hands in front of her to halt my approach. She, like Aro, was clad entirely in some thick, stretchy, leathery material, that looked particularly well-suited for heavy combat. And she stood confidently in her long, powerful-looking lace-up boots as she tried to send me dashing off in the other direction with her repelling powers.

I felt a slight tingle against my mental shield as I rushed closer, but her gift hardly tickled the surface, and thus I kept on course, running straight for the collapsed heap of black robes lying painfully contorted against the opposite wall.

Renata's eyes widened in horror as she watched me sprint directly towards her—her powers hadn't worked, and she was no match for me physically. Had I been intending to kill her, she would have been totally screwed. Running wouldn't get her anywhere I couldn't get to faster, given my newborn strength, not to mention it would entail abandoning Aro in a fairly defenseless state. And fighting, since she had never anticipated that her talents would ever fail her, would only delay what she considered to be the inevitable.

All outcomes pointed to me winning if there was a confrontation, so Renata (her training causing her to assume that's what this was) decided to take an incredible risk and tossed herself over Aro, desperately shielding his twisted form with her own body.

"_Abbi pieta!" _she sobbed desperately in Italian before she suddenly recalled that I only spoke English. "Please! Isabella, stop!"

Her raw cry gave me pause and I slowed rapidly to a halt, my wavy mahogany locks tossing as I ceased movement. I held my hands surrenderingly over my head to signal that I possessed no mal-intent. "I just wanted to see if he was okay," I breathed out slowly, calmly, giving Renata's adrenaline filled-brain some time to process my words.

Renata simply blinked in disbelief—once, twice—before she spun toward her master, pressed a single hand softly against his forehead and desperately enquired after his health in rambling, melodic Italian.

In response to her insistent voice, Aro's ruby eyes flickered abruptly open and he immediately groaned in pain, sitting up on the floor slowly and reaching behind himself to cradle the injury to his back. As he attempted to straighten his posture, I noticed in horror that his spine had been twisted unnaturally out of place, an injury that would be completely and permanently crippling to a human, and initially I feared that Aro would have to call upon Vera's miraculous aid in order to remedy it. However, while Aro continued to strain himself into a more upright position, I heard a gruesome popping sound as his vertebrae individually realigned on their own and the fractured bone slowly grew back in place. This was accompanied by a sharp howl on Aro's part and a murderous glare in my direction from Renata.

A low hiss left Aro's tight lips after his damaged bones finished healing. Then he murmured a soft, appreciative sentence in Italian to his bodyguard as she knelt anxiously beside him, affectionately rubbing his forehead with one hand and smoothing the other over his now straightened back.

And then suddenly Aro turned to me.

I swallowed thickly—I was in for it now.

"Isabella," He began with an unexpectedly cheerful tone, as Renata gracefully assisted him in rising to his feet.

His black leathery battle gear somehow still looked immaculate despite recent events. Inwardly I started to curse him for looking so perfect all the time, before it dawned on me that I probably still looked amazing too. Being a vampire and all seemed to make getting mussed a nigh-impossible task.

"Though I am thrilled to see your enthusiasm for combat, let's confine it to the appropriate venue, shall we?" he continued in the same unruffled voice, finishing with a devious smirk that made me feel vastly uncomfortable, especially given the circumstances.

It was my turn to blink in disbelief now—he wasn't mad at me?

"I'm _so_ sorry…" I began apologetically before Aro swiftly cut me off.

"There is no need," He interrupted with a stiff, halting gesture. "All is forgiven, my dear," he assured me in a feathery voice before extending a single, bare hand in invitation.

I tentatively took it, not wanting to disappoint the man I supposed was my boss now—master? King? Leader? I wasn't sure what to call him, or even if I was supposed to afford him any title at all—Alice just called him Aro, and he seemed perfectly fine with that. Of course, I was fairly certain Alice could have three heads and Aro wouldn't mind in the slightest—he would let her get away with almost anything if it meant he had access to her amazing power.

Aro's eyes glittered briefly as he smoothed his other hand over mine, sandwiching his warm, soft skin around mine. His face looked awed for a moment before he suddenly broke contact, lifting his hands away from mine quickly as though he had been burned. I guessed that he still wasn't used to not being able to see my thoughts when he touched me, and had reached for my hand purely out of habit. His slightly downturned lips seemed to offer a small, silent apology for attempting to breech my privacy.

I was stunned by the musical words that followed. "I fully expect to see more where that came from upstairs," Aro declared, clasping his pale hands together in anticipation.

"You want me to throw you against the back wall again?" I asked, disbelievingly, sending a bewildered glance towards Renata, who was gazing concernedly at her—um, our?—master with wide, scarlet eyes. She was shaking her head earnestly to indicate that she did not think a repeat of recent events was wise.

"Ah, come with me," Aro answered in a breathy whisper, beckoning me with a slender finger. "It is far easier to show you, I think."

Without any further introduction, Aro swiftly strode towards the end of the hallway and I quickly matched his pace in order not to be left in the dust as he moved purposefully, his powerful legs carrying him rapidly over the hard stone floors. I had absolutely no clue where we were going, other than the ill-described "battle-training room" and simply followed his lead as he ascended a tall flight of spiral stairs.

He sped powerfully down another long, torchlit hallway until we reached a pair of heavy, lead double doors like those in the dungeons. Renata kept pace with him as well, always hovering a few inches behind Aro like a solid shadow, and I was somewhat irked by the fact, not because I intended Aro any actual harm, but rather foolishly because now was one of the rare times Aro was wearing pants—nice, tight leather pants that left little to the imagination—and I was dying to have the chance to see his butt, which I was certain would look just as luscious as the rest of him.

But alas, Renata was in the way—and I really ought not to be ogling a married… err… _mated _man anyway.

It bothered me a great deal that I still hadn't gotten over my intense physical infatuation with him—it was wrong on so many levels.

I was quickly distracted from my silly, and somewhat perverse desire to observe that particular portion of Aro's anatomy, however, when Aro raised both hands to the large, cast-iron rings on both doors which served as handles, and dramatically swung both wide open. The room which his theatric motion revealed was immense—probably several football-fields across—and I was surprised to notice that almost every available surface was covered in several-feet-thick, cushiony, dark red mats, like the ones covering the wrestling room back at Forks High, only much thicker and much more durable. The only exceptions were several large rectangular lead blocks the size of small houses resting in the corner.

But everything else: the long walls, the huge floor, the towering vaulted ceiling were all completely smothered in this shock-absorbing material, and I quickly learned why. The members of the Volturi guard were all spread out on the padded floor, situated in pairs around the enormous room, and locked in ardent one-on-one combat, which had them throwing each other bodily against all the surfaces with such incredible force, that was certain to cause severe damage (both to the building and the guards) without the padding in place. Aro's twin daughters, Marcus, and the other non-combative members, Sulpicia, Athenodora, and a couple others' mates were nowhere to be found. But every other member of the Volturi was here, dressed in similar leathery-looking clothes and lunging furiously for their battle-partner's throats.

I watched with a mix of fascination and horror as Jane took on Chelsea. The taller, light-brown-haired woman was straining not to collapse under the intense agony of Jane's icy stare, and the shorter teen deftly dodged her labored, ill-aimed attacks. Corin, beside them, took on Demetri, and I was surprised to find the pair rather evenly matched—I hadn't expected the small, dark-haired woman to be much of a match for the lithe tracker. But what she lacked in agility and speed, she more than made up for in tactfully directed force.

Alec stood a ways off to the left of both pairs with angry concentration etched into his young features. His boyish hands stood outstretched and a thick, black gas oozed out of them, spiraling quickly around the room. Alec's power seemed to be moving in chase of a lanky vampire of Chinese descent, with cropped black hair that I recognized as one of the newborns from Carlisle's experiments. But the Asian vampire was literally teleporting around the room, and laughing boisterously as he easily evaded Alec's sensory depriving smog.

The teleporting vampire was named Chen, I recalled from Carlisle's memories, but I had never before witnessed his power in action, as he had been much too weak to use it like this while living off animal blood. So now I stared in unrestrained awe as he vanished and reappeared in a flash of dark smoke many times, popping up here, and there, all over the large room, without staying in one place for longer than a fraction of a second, much to Alec's frustration.

After flickering all around Alec in a taunting manner, the spirited man suddenly materialized directly in front of me, with wispy black spirals emanating from his body for a few moments, causing me to stagger back a step in reflexive surprise. He flashed me a dazzling smile as soon as the blackness around him faded, and offered a quick greeting with a hasty wave of his hand before disappearing again in another puff, just before Alec's vapor progressed close enough to touch him. I stood dazed for a while, frozen-stiff in shock after his departure and his return to the fight.

Aro chuckling softly at my startled reaction at my side. "Chen is... unique," he explained simply with a highly amused smirk.

But before I was given any time to ponder the deeper meanings of his statement, a flash of snowy white hair caught my eye amidst all the shiny red and black. I suddenly swiveled on my heels to face the middle of the room where I found Caius standing roughly in the middle of the room's matted floor fighting Afton. Perplexingly, Afton seemed to be winning, despite the fact that I knew the elder vampire to be much stronger and more ruthless from Aro's mind. But even more bizarre was the fact that all of Caius' attacks were in the completely wrong direction, as if he had no idea where the skinny little goof was at.

At least it was bizarre until I remembered that Afton's power was an invisibility aura, and that although it had no effect on me, being a mental power, Caius probably couldn't see him at all. Glancing hurriedly around the room, I realized that no one could see the elusive sneak, except me, which only made Caius' savage, blind lunges at thin air even funnier to behold.

I let my first genuine giggle as a vampire spill from my lips and was surprised at how good it felt.

No wonder Aro audibly expressed his amusement all the time—it was refreshing.

But before I could really start laughing up a storm my eyes were drawn to a place a few yards behind Caius, where two female vampires were preforming some serious gymnastics in their attempts to grab hold of the other's neck, presumably to tear their opponent's head from their shoulders. The two were twisting into very unnatural-looking positions to avoid the furiously grasping hands seeking to destroy them, and cartwheeling or back-flipping out of the way whenever the other's powerful fingers or gnashing teeth got too close, their flexible movements performed in a way that I had only ever seen approximated before in spy-movies.

Initially I was unsure as to their identities, because their hair was all tied up in ornate, braided buns to keep it out of the way. But I eventually recognized the pair as Heidi and Vera, who looked completely different in leathery pants with their hair up, than in lavish gowns with their hair down—unlike Alice, fighting with one of the strength-type guards in the back of the room, who was easily recognizable and not all that out of place in her fighting gear. But once I had ascertained who they were, I was even more surprised by the athleticism and viciousness of their combat.

With all her allure, I hadn't really pegged Heidi for a fighter, and Vera was an irreplaceable asset to Aro, which I had assumed he wouldn't want on the front lines. Perhaps she acted like a military medic—fighting when necessary, but her presence on the battlefield was mostly for the purpose of helping others?

However, before I could really evaluate the wisdom of Aro's tactical decision to have Vera train for battle with the others, another of the many violent skirmishes occurring throughout the room caught the attention of my darkening red eyes as they flickered interestedly over the entire scene.

On the other side of the room I saw another one of the newborns involved in Carlisle's experiment, Yvonne, now a much older and healthier vampire, with gorgeous platinum blonde hair that was coiled tightly in an ornate chignon, holding out both hands dramatically in front of her as she faced off with Felix. She was twisting her fingers into a stranglehold of the air in front of her, in the general direction of the far corner with the house-sized, lead rectangles, like she thought she had Jedi powers, or something. I was about to laugh at her childish attempts to do the impossible, when suddenly one of the gigantic, dense metal blocks in front of her lifted off the ground in response to her theatric hand motions.

The colossal object sailed swiftly through the air, and as it zoomed into a position a few feet over Felix's towering head a look of pure terror lit his face, as though he was well-aware of his fate once it rested above his hulking body. With a cruel twist of her icy pink lips, the slender blonde suddenly dropped her leather-clad arms at her sides, and exactly when she had done so, the enormous grey boulder fell, landing with a deafening _thud _over Felix, crushing his body, leaving only his head and shoulders exposed.

Holy crap—that was one intense power!

Miraculously, the padding beneath him had absorbed almost all of the shockwave I had expected to follow such a substantial impact. But even more surprisingly it seemed that Felix was now securely trapped beneath the inordinately large box Yvonne had hefted onto him telepathically. Felix struggled avidly for a bit to try to escape, but as he wiggled vainly about, bucking and cursing under his breath in Italian, the dull metal block settled over him didn't move in the slightest. It stunned me that this slender woman had been able to lift the object at all, let alone solely with the power of her mind, because if Felix of all vampires couldn't shake it, then it must have weighed _many_ tons.

I stood ramrod-still in shock at the pretty blonde's mental fortitude.

Then I intently watched Felix as he pitifully tried to wriggle free his hands in order to defend himself, and was distraught to see him in pain, having grown somewhat fond of the large vampire over the last month. Suddenly, Yvonne sailed in from above, her hand poised to strike with a deadly karate-chop directly into his neck—one that I knew would completely decapitate him.

I gasped in horror—she was going to kill him!

Felix seemed to realize this about the same time I did, and so somewhat reluctantly he loudly cried out the same word I had heard Renata use earlier.

"_Pieta!" _

I cringed and steeled myself for the worst, expecting his futile cry to be for naught, but was surprised as this one simple word seemed to freeze Yvonne's movements in midair immediately, before she rapidly changed course and landed peacefully at Felix's side with a smug smile. Felix cursed in Italian again in self-directed frustration as her booted feet hit the mat and Yvonne said something sassy in response. She then shot out a single hand and blasted the bolder back against the far wall, freeing Felix from his incarceration.

As he slowly sat up, it was clear that Felix was visibly upset that he had lost. But he seemed to bear no ill will toward Yvonne for nearly slicing his head off—he seemed madder at himself for not having enough strength to best her.

And it was in that moment that I realized—feeling rather stupid for not thinking of this earlier—that the pairs must not actually be fighting to the death, but rather until the other conceded defeat, only moments before they were about to be brutally torn apart. Sure, I knew getting ripped up wouldn't kill them, only fire could deal the final blow, and thankfully there was nothing of the sort to be found anywhere in the room. But I imagined it was still incredibly painful to have one's head forcibly removed from their body, and best to be avoided if at all possible.

Instinctively I curled my smooth alabaster fingers around my neck defensively and swallowed fearfully.

I had absolutely no desire to lose my head, that was for sure.

Noticing my look of horrified shock in response to the near-death end of their sparring match, Aro soothingly rubbed my arm. His caressing fingers glided gently over the sleeve of my cropped black jacket, before turning and saying with a maniacal smile: "Shall we begin, Isabella?"

* * *

**Update 8/10/2015: If you liked this story and want to see it continued, go ahead and check out the sequel at (www . fanfiction) . (net/s / 11319611 / 1 / The-Desolation-of-Mercy) without the spaces and parentheses. ;) That's where all future updates are going to be posted. **


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